John's Boys
by VirchowsTriadDuet
Summary: Dean was 5 when John left his sons alone in a motel room. Now 12 years later, John is still searching for his oldest and the thing that took him. He never told Sam he had a brother; what if they never found Dean? John couldn't build up the kid's hopes only to shatter them. But as fate would have it, a beat up stranger in the woods has a very familiar set of dinosaur green eyes...
1. Blood Runs Cold

**A/N: Vivi here! New story. Totally new AU. Protective!John. Teen!chesters. Sam is 13. I'll add in the other tags as they are revealed in the plot. This idea came to me one evening and the first two chapters were written before one a.m. I'll post it as a serial fic, like Internal Medicine and Family Practice, my other fics. Probably not on a Monday though, since that's when FP gets posted (IM is complete if you wanna read it hint hint). If you know my writing at all, you'll know that I love feedback and sometimes it influences how I tell the story or what happens in the plot. So leave me some suggestions or constructive criticism. Let me know your thoughts. I hope you enjoy John's Boys!**

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"Goodnight Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"I'm your father. I'm allowed to call you what I want."

"Whatever."

"Go to sleep. I need you sharp tomorrow."

Sam huffed in return, turning over in his sleeping bag to put his back to his father. He never had liked their camping trips. Something about being alone with Dad in the woods for days to weeks on end with no outlet for frustration except each other left a bad impression on camping as a whole. Sam wondered why anyone would want to spend so long with just one other person, isolated in the wilderness.

Then again, sometimes Sam just hated hunting. _What I wouldn't give for running water right now…_

It had been about a week since Dad caught wind of some missing persons a few states over. All hikers. All within the same twenty mile stretch of forest. Sam hadn't known what a wendigo was until three days ago when they arrived in Illinois and Dad figured it out. According to the old man himself, a wendigo was mean, fast, old, and ate people because it was a cannibal once, when it was still human.

Dad made it very clear that the thing was no longer human. He also stressed that it was very dangerous and could sound human, even mimic voices it had heard already to lure people away from their group.

'Kill it with fire, Sam. Or it will kill you. Got it?' Dad's words from earlier that week echoed in Sam's head. All Sam could do at the time was roll his eyes subtly and nod. Whenever Dad told him how to kill something, he'd say it like that and it annoyed Sam to no end. 'Kill it with a silver bullet to the heart, Sam. Or it will kill you.' 'Kill it with a machete, take the head clean off. Or it will kill you.' Sam didn't know why Dad was so paranoid about him knowing how to kill everything the first time he tried. It's not like Sam was defenseless; he could hold his own in a struggle. He felt stronger than ever having turned thirteen a couple months ago. Bulletproof, even. And when he wasn't feeling quite so confident, he knew with every fiber of his being that Dad would be there to help him. The man would give his own life for his son. Sam knew that much, even if he was grumpy and strict and heavy handed most of the time. Dad had proven how much his son meant to him time and time again. Whether it was a vampire, a spirit, or CPS, Sam knew Dad would and could do just about anything to protect his only son and preserve their tiny family unit.

Sam rolled over in his sleeping bag again and sighed. The bugs and animals that came out when the sun went down were almost deafening, a constant buzz in every waking moment of the night. Dad said it would get really quiet when the wendigo was nearby. Knowing that they were protected in a ring of Anasazi symbols, which Uncle Bobby said a wendigo couldn't cross, Sam almost hoped the thing would come so he could sleep in peace and quiet or at the very least kill the thing. The less time he and Dad spent out here alone, together, the better. Sam loved his father; hell, the man was all he had. But they butted heads a lot. Especially on so called 'vacations' from school.

Dad started snoring and Sam knew there was no way he'd be able to sleep. So he stared at the top of the tent, still slightly visible in the fast fading light of dusk, and tried to tune out the cacophony all around him.

Almost an hour later, Sam was tossing and turning again, trying to get comfortable on the bed roll he hauled through the forest with the rest of his share of the supplies. _Worthless piece of jun-_

Sam sat bolt upright as a monstrous, earsplitting crack ripped through the darkness. He could hear it echo softly in the silence that followed. _A gunshot? Twenty miles from the trailhead through dense forest? What the hell's going on?_ Sam wondered as he finally recognized the lack of noise from nocturnal creatures. No chirping, no squeaks, nothing.

Then, like a flood rushing in, a shrill, furious, inhuman growl filled the forest. The war cry was accompanied by a barrage of terrified screams, one after the other, punctuated only by ragged breaths and wavering like a person was running. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that it was just one person; the screams didn't overlap and all of them were about the same tone.

"Da-"

A big hand slammed into Sam's chest, shoving him back down onto the bed roll. Sam's eyes were wide as he looked to his father, who held one finger to his lips. There was a break in the screams, but just when Sam thought they should go out and kill the thing before it killed whoever was out there, the awful, pleading cries resumed. Sam could actually make out some words this time. Most of them were expletives or calls for help.

John had just loaded his shotgun and readied a butane torch and some flammable hornet spray before they heard it.

The screams intensified for a brief moment, the voice cried out for help once more, but then two deep thuds in quick succession ended the sound.

And there was silence.

Deep, deafening silence.

"Dad, we gotta go help-" Sam whispered, trying to find his own butane torch and spray in the darkness.

"The thing can sound like a person, Sam. Don't let it fool you." John warned. Yet even as he spoke, he was leaving the tent, allowing some residual embers from the fire pit to illuminate the path to Sam's torch in time for the son to follow his father.

The man was standing just inside the ring of symbols, shining his flashlight in a search pattern over the forest floor. Nothing seemed out of place, but the so called voice had sounded further away than even John's high powered flashlight could shine. Even if there was no undergrowth to contend with, the origin of the sound would still be difficult to find, since the landscape, though relatively flat, had streambeds and the occasional ridge of dirt from an old railway that connected the mines to the town some forty miles away. The tracks had long since rusted away, but the raised piles of dirt remained well preserved, snaking through the high and low points of the area in a meandering, lazy kind of way.

"Help…" A wisp of sound carried by the wind put John on edge.

In all the research on vocal mimicry and wendigoes that John and Bobby had done before taking this case, not once had they come across a situation where the creature successfully mimicked injury. It could mime distress perfectly, draw you in with frantic pleas that tugged at any maternal or paternal instinct to protect that a person had. But it couldn't mimic pain. They've tried; there were cases of the bastards attempting to pretend to howl in pain in a human's voice, but in all the details they uncovered, the sounds were very, _very_ obviously fake. There was no soul behind them, no need to survive.

A loud groan of pain from several hundred yards to John's right tapered off into silence, spiking an adrenaline rush in his blood. _There's that voice again_. From his years of training in the Marines and as a hunter, John could tell that whoever was out there obviously needed medical attention _now_ or never again. And he just didn't have it in him to abandon the innocent pleas in the dark with a wendigo around.

John held his hand out in front of Sam as the kid neared the edge of the circle. "Don't leave the camp."

"I'm coming with you." Sam said, not wanting to be left behind _again_ on a hunt.

"Like hell you are. Stay put or you're grounded." John glared at the boy, who was a good bit shorter than he, hoping that for once Sam would listen. Just as he turned to search out the person making all the racket, he heard the dreaded word.

"No."

John held back the urge to yell and instead turned to his boy with tightly controlled calm. Yelling had never gotten him anywhere with Sam. He had to adapt his parenting style to accommodate the kid who had gotten his bull-headedness from the best. Discipline and respect had never been this hard for John to illicit from a child before Plainfield. "Listen to me. This thing will kill you, Sam. It's a good hunter during the day, but at night it's almost impossible to escape, much less burn. I'm just going to scout the area where we heard the yelling to make sure it wasn't a real person. I won't even be out of sight of the camp, okay? And if it turns out that it was a person and the thing took it, then we'll have to wait until tomorrow to find them both. Hopefully alive."

"Dad, if it's just a recon, why can't I come? Why am I not allowed to do anything ever?" Sam could already feel his face heating up. It was so much easier to get angry since his voice started changing, but the quick emotional transitions hadn't stopped when his voice finally stopped squeaking so much. He really didn't like it; the arguing with Dad, the difficulty in deciphering his own mood, the uncomfortable knowledge that he had let hormones control his actions yet again. Sam knew Dad was right; he could watch Dad's back from here and jump in if Dad needed help. So why couldn't he just wrap his testosterone addled brain around that?

"Because I'm your father and my job is to keep you safe. Now stay in the circle." John barked, ending the argument before it began. Sam sneered at him, knowing that he'd be grounded for doing it. Yet it was still so worth it.

Out of the corner of his eye, there was movement.

"Dad, wait!" Sam cried, lunging forward as he caught a glimpse of something too pale moving through the trees. Something moving fast. Faster than Sam thought was possible. And Dad was still moving forward; he had been glaring at his stubborn son again and could never have seen the flash of off-white, leathery skin that drew those hazel eyes into the darkness beyond the limited scope of the flashlight.

John was just about to step over the symbol ring when the creature came barreling into view, its blackened, dead eyes locked on the bigger of the two targets.

Fear gripping him, Sam dug his fingers into his father's leather jacket and pulled as hard as he could. John fell back, knocking his head into Sam's chest and taking Sam down with him. The creature stopped hard at the edge of the circle of weird symbols dug in the dirt and growled as loudly as a truck horn. Sam's left hand flew behind him to soften his fall and landed on a hot log from the edge of the fire pit. The pain didn't even register with Sam for a good few seconds; he was more terrified than he had been in a long time and this was another feeling he hated because even though he was thirteen now, he was still just a kid. Dad called him 'sensitive' and Sam hated it, tried to be tough, more like Dad. But… he'd curl up close tonight, after they returned to the safety of the tent. And chances were that Dad would let him, no matter how 'sensitive' Sam was being or how big a baby he was. Dad always said he couldn't sleep when Sam was waking up every few hours with nightmares, crying out and gasping for breath. If Dad just rested his arm over Sam's back while he slept, the kid could peacefully slip away for twelve hours straight. No matter how much Sam hated it, he loved when he could just be little with his dad. And Dad never brought it up, no matter how bad it got. Because it was just the two of them. They didn't have anyone else they could trust more than each other.

Sam knew he could rely on his father, even when his 'tough' teenage frame was frozen in fear. Before he could figure out what was going on, before he even jerked his hand from the embers, the wendigo was ablaze, writhing and howling as it stumbled a few feet into the forest and collapsed, taking down a few briar bushes in its final throes. Sam's ears were ringing.

"Gah!" Sam gasped, finally tugging his hand away, shaking it violently to lessen the pain that was radiating up his arm. The soft light of the remaining embers provided just enough illumination for Sam to see that this wasn't going to heal well on its own. It was black and red and bloody already. He'd be bandaged for a week at least.

John was up, turned, and pulling Sam away from the fire pit within two seconds. "What happened?" He asked, leaning Sam forward to get a look at his back and his head before deciding that no, his son had not caught fire when he fell on the kid and pushed him into the live coals.

"I burnt my hand." Sam grunted, clutching the appendage to his chest and biting back tears. "Shouldn't you make sure it's dead?"

"It's dead." John said without looking away from his son. "Let me see your hand."

"It's fine." Sam said quickly. "We gotta go find that guy." The screams that earlier had rocked the trees still echoed loudly in his young mind; almost as loudly as the ringing. Yet now, his world was devoid of any unfamiliar voices or pained utterances. If whoever made those sounds died because Sammy's little hand got singed, there would be no way he could forgive himself. "Please."

The Winchesters locked eyes and John saw the panicked urgency in his son's face. "Okay." John stood, clearing his throat of the anxiety and guilt that had settled there. "But if we don't find anyone in twenty minutes, we're coming back and fixing that hand. We can look more tomorrow."

"Deal." Sam nodded furiously, trying to ignore the pulsing, dripping heat in his palm. Regardless of what his father said, he had no intention of stopping the search until he found someone.

They found the body within five minutes. As soon as the blue color registered in Sam's head as jeans, he was clamoring over briars and downed trees to get to closer. "Dad, over here!"

It was a man. Blue jeans, ratty tennis shoes, gray hoodie; all pretty typical of the locals they'd met in town when they arrived. This person, however, was slumped on his side, back against a large oak, covered in downed branches and twigs, with a sickening redness spreading over the gray fabric near his abdomen. And he wasn't moving.

John, still some ways away from the tree combing over his own search area, noted the disappointment on his son's face in the distance. "He alive?" John called, turning to make his way over to where his little boy stood clutching his burned hand to his chest, his other hand shaking and betraying the effect the night was having on him. _Should've just left him with Bobby. Why did I have to do this to him again? Kid doesn't need any more death in his life._

"I- I don't…" Sam stuttered, not wanting to accept the loss. Not wanting to accept that an innocent man had died because he'd kept his dad from saving him, all over a stupid argument and a tiny injury.

"ABC's son, you know the drill. Hop to it." John called through the night, over the sounds of the nocturnal critters that had started up slowly and carefully once the wendigo's fire went out.

"Right." Sam sighed, frowning at the body before him. He knelt down, pushing some of the branches away and lifting a particularly large limb from the man's hip. "Airways." Sam couldn't see any noticeable trauma to the man's mouth, trachea, or ribs. He sighed again. _Why am I even doing this?_ "Breathing. Circulation." He couldn't see any stirring in the man's chest, no movement of air, or movement at all for that matter. Reluctantly, Sam pressed his right index and middle fingers to the man's neck and waited with what little hope remained slowly seeping from his heart.

 _One Mississippi. I'm gonna have to bury this guy out in the middle of nowhere._

 _Two Mississippi. Don't even know his name. His family will be devastated when he turns up missing._

 _Three-_

"Dad, he's alive, I got a pulse." Sam exclaimed suddenly, standing quickly just as John pushed through the last of the undergrowth to join him.

"Damn." John breathed, panting from his fight with the rotting trunks and tangled stalks of thorns. The sight before him was gruesome to say the least. The man's side had been ripped open and he was bleeding everywhere. There was blood high up on the trunk of the oak, suggesting that the wendigo slashed him then launched him through the air and the man collided with not only the trunk, but several branches on the way down. Those branches were now lying overtop of the man, concealing most of him. John wondered how his son even found the body under all that mess. He was also pretty sure Sam hadn't noticed the sawed off shotgun still held tightly in the man's hand.

"I don't know if he's breathing though." Sam sobered up as his adrenaline kicked in.

"We need to get him back to camp. If he hasn't gone into shock yet, he's not far. But oxygen first. Help me get him on his back. If he's not breathing, then we'll have to breathe for him for a while until he picks up the slack." John said. _If he picks up the slack._

For once, Sam obeyed without a second thought, kneeling back to the mushy forest floor. John knew he could've moved the man on his own; hell, he wasn't much bigger than Sammy, around at least. Then again, he was a few inches taller. But he also knew that if Sam didn't help him, the kid would just stand there fretting, not knowing what to do and working himself up. John wanted Sam to always know what to do; what better way to protect himself? What better way to stay alive? Safe? With his family?

As soon as they moved the man onto his back and off of a rather large root that had been pressing against his ribs, the man started sucking in air shakily. The process of breathing seemed very difficult for him, and he coughed a few times, but he didn't wake up. Not even when he started violently shivering did his eyes slide open.

"Good, good. Keep that airflow goin', kiddo." John murmured as he scooped the man up into his arms, grabbing the gun as he came up. He wasn't big; John would be surprised if the guy was even twenty years old and there was no way he weighed more than one fifty soaking wet. There was also no way John was throwing this guy over his shoulders; not only would it be unbelievably painful for the dude, it would also increase his rate of blood loss and John wasn't about to have Sam watch a human die because John pushed too much blood out of him trying to save him.

"Sam, run ahead and start some water boiling. And get some more rocks in the embers. The tent is too cold to work in and I don't want to add hypothermia to this guy's list of problems." John said to the back of his son's head as Sam took off after the first sentence was punctuated.

By the time John lugged the man back to camp, the shivering had become irregular and more of a twitch than anything that could produce heat. Sam had ramped up the fire that they'd let go for the night and now had a welcoming pool of light encircling the campsite. Water was sitting in a metal pot suspended by a tripod over the fire, just waiting to boil. Several large, flat rocks were piled against the burning logs to absorb heat that they could transfer into the tent. And there was Sammy, holding back the zippered tent door, looking worried and much younger than his age now that he was out of his element.

"Good work, Sam." John grunted, ignoring the annoying ache in his back as he carried the man into the tent and kicked his sleeping bag out of the way before laying the man down on the bare bed mat. The gun was tossed- after he made sure the safety was on- into their gear duffel. Sam zipped the tent shut and knelt nearby, eyes glued to this new stranger.

The man didn't look good. Not only were his injuries becoming more numerous and obvious by the second, but he just didn't _look_ healthy. Sure he was bleeding badly from four long rips in his side and his right shoulder was definitely dislocated, but his face was stubbly, gaunt, and dirty, moreso than just landing in dirt should cause. He smelled bad, like he hadn't showered in days. His jeans were torn at the knees and again just below one pocket, slightly frayed, but not enough to be 'fashion' or from the claws of the creature turned to ash just a few feet from where he lay now. The rubber sole of one of his shoes was separating from the fabric and there were at least two holes in the pair. His hair was shorter than Sam's, but longer than John's, and looked unkempt, uneven in places like he'd tried to cut it himself. His nose was dripping; not surprising in the chilly weather. And the bruises. A black eye and fading yellow splotches on his right hand were all that they could see, but John knew there would be more under his clothes. You don't just get isolated bruises like that. These were probably a week old at best, and new ones would form by tomorrow morning from all the fun they were having tonight.

But the father and son put all that aside. This man was hurt because they hadn't put the creature down in time and it didn't matter who he was. He was worth saving.

And his breath was coming more in gasps than oxygen delivering breaths while his young features contorted in pain. Occasionally a hand would try to raise, only to fall back to the bed mat and fist itself.

"I'm going to need your help for this, Sam." John said, watching with restrained calm as his son looked at him, eyes wide but sure as he nodded. "We need to cut his sweatshirt off. Hand me the med kit." John held one hand out as he gently separated the ruined fabric from the wounds that had begun to coagulate. The man didn't seem to have a reaction; he just kept panting and grimacing when he took too deep a breath.

"I got it." Sam said, opening the kit and holding it out to his father.

The scissors were right on top. "Those stones warmed up yet?"

"Yeah, we had some from earlier that were still pretty hot." Sam said, already leaving the tent. He returned just as John started to cut along the right seam of the man's hoodie, far from the gashes on the left. The stones that Sam carried in with an old dish towel warmed John's skin on the way by before they were deposited hastily on several logs inside the tent that served to keep the rocks from melting the plastic floor and allowed more air to circulate around them.

"How's that water doing?" John asked, now moving his way down the man's arm to free the damaged limb without having to drag it from the threadbare sleeve.

"It's warm but not boiling. Probably ten more minutes?" Sam said, zipping the tent and returning to the man's side, opposite his father. The man tried once more to lift his hand, probably to try and relieve some of his pain, but it fell just like the last few times, his nails digging little trenches in the rubber mat beneath him. Sam hesitantly reached out and laid his hand on the man's arm, hoping to convey some kind of comfort. Instead, he was met with a very slim, very limp bundle of muscle and a small whimper from the man as a drop of water slipped from his eye. It blazed a tiny, clean trail of skin down the man's pained and filthy face.

John had made his final cut, from the man's armpit to the collar. Gently, he unveiled the dislocated shoulder and was not surprised to find three bruises in various states of repair along that arm alone. "Help me set him up. Then we can get this off him. Get him warmed up."

As Sam moved in to prop up the man's shoulder, he frowned at the temperature under his fingers, and the lack of heat generating movements. With Sam on his left and John supporting him by the back on his right, they got the tattered cloth off the guy. Sam wondered why there was nothing underneath; no shirt, no undershirt, no tank top. The only things to see were the lacerations spilling dark red life over his side, the yellow and green bruises of various sizes splattered along his shoulders and abdomen, the big, angry, red spot across his back, and the ribs that were much more prominent than they should have been.

"That's going to be a nasty one." John said as they laid the man down. A larger than normal gasp turned into a strangled sob as his back hit the mat once more. John immediately grabbed one of their clean washcloths and pressed hard on the cuts, trying to stem the flow of blood.

"What's going to be nasty?" Sam asked, already digging out the few suture kits they had, and the floss and sewing needle just in case.

"He hit that tree hard. Probably what dislocated his shoulder. He's gonna have a mean bruise along his back from top to bottom for a long time." For a minute or so, the pair just listened to the agonizing gasps and sobs that filled the tent. "Scoot over." John nudged his kid over a few feet so the more experienced Winchester had a good angle to start closing the gaps in the man's side. "There any gloves in th-"

"Please!" The man sobbed, gasping loudly only to choke on his words for a few seconds. The sudden sign of life took John by surprise; he let up on the pressure for a split second before bearing down again, yielding another strangled sob.

 _Well this is going to be interesting._

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 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. Should I keep going? Let me know what you think!**


	2. Everybody Hurts

**A/N: Vivi here! I present to you the second chapter of John's Boys. I had a pretty good turnout for the first chapter, but I'd love to hear from you if you like this fic. It always makes my day when someone guesses where I'm going with the plot, so let me know what you think! No new tags yet, by the way. Enjoy!**

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 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"Please!" The man sobbed, gasping loudly only to choke on his words for a few seconds. The sudden sign of life took John by surprise; he let up on the pressure for a split second before bearing down again, yielding another strangled sob._

Well this is going to be interesting.

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"You're safe, kid. We're patching you up. What's your name?" John said very clearly as he took a pair of gloves from the kit when Sam froze up, stunned by the man's outburst. "Sam, keep pressure on this. Sam."

Sam tore his eyes from the man and looked to his father, who had moved the cloth down to expose one long, ragged tear. Finally realizing what Dad said, Sam shuffled over and pressed hard on the cloth, trying to keep his own bloody palm from mixing with the blood that saturated the towel. The last thing he needed was for their blood to mix and start coagulating in his veins as it reacted to the foreign blood type.

"No, no, please…" The sob trailed off, followed by a weak attempt at a shove against John's leg and an attempt to roll onto his right side.

"Don't do that." Sam blurted out as he took one hand to gently push the man back to the mat before he rolled onto his dislocated shoulder and tore a tendon. Sam couldn't keep as much pressure on the bleed with only one hand. John tried to speed up his preparations.

"Stop, I don't- wan-" The man clutched his hand around Sam's wrist where he was held down. Sam thought maybe he was trying to pull it off, but it was hard to tell. The guy could barely hold his hand there, much less generate any significant force.

That was the first time the man's eyes opened even a little. It was just for a split second, and they couldn't seem to focus on anything as they rolled around, pupils much too small to be normal. "Dad, I think he might have a concussion." Sam realized.

John, always task oriented, finally had a suture kit ready to go and was in the middle of poking a hole in a bag of saline when he spoke. "Wouldn't be surprised. Either the tree or the ground, or both, but two hits would've probably killed him on the spot."

"Leave me a-alone." The man cried, louder than Sam was expecting. He watched as the man tried once again to open his eyes. Still unfocused, and slow to dilate in reaction to the little electric lamp hung at the top of the tent.

 _Definitely concussed, but at least the pupils moved._ Sam thought with a sympathetic grimace.

"Please…" The man's eyes slid shut again and he tensed in response to some great pain, letting out a sickening squeak. Sam turned in time to see his father squirt some of the saline into the man's wounds. Little bits of dirt and wood came tumbling out, along with globs of coagulated blood and everything that came flowing out was stained a deep red.

Anger flared up in Sam's belly, but he knew this was the right thing to do. Still, it pained him to see the guy like this. In so much pain because of his stupid pride. "Can we- can we give him something for the pain?" Sam asked, glancing between the man's graying face and the bag in his father's hand.

"800 milligrams of ibuprofen. Four of those little red circular pills, in the pop foil packets." John continued his task, knowing that the sooner the cuts were cleaned, the sooner he could start suturing, and the sooner the poor guy could sleep tonight off in relative comfort. "Just leave the towel there. The worst of it should have stopped by now."

Sam nodded and hurried around his father to the med kit. "Got 'em." Sam scrubbed most of the blood off of his palms with a gauze pad nabbed from the med kit and pushed the little circles out of their individual bubbles and onto a clean square of gauze. He returned to his position, gently pushing one of the pills at the man's lips. "Hey, dude, these are pain pills. They'll help."

"NO!" The man actually jerked his head to the side and batted Sam's hand away with more force than he'd managed since they found him. The pill in Sam's hand went flying and pinged harmlessly against one of the heated rocks.

"Dude, c'mon." Sam said in frustration. "Pain pills. They're to take the pain away."

"No pills. Don'… don't do nothin' ta me. Le' me 'lone…" The man seemed to lose some of his steam, tugging his arm to rest over his eyes as he continued panting for breath. "Why… dizzy?"

"Dad…?" Sam frowned. He hated not knowing what to do. He hated that his father usually knew exactly what to do and had to tell him how to handle a situation like this. But he knew the guy needed help that he couldn't provide on his own, regardless of whether or not his pride remained intact.

"Crush 'em up. Put the pieces- and make 'em tiny- into one gulp of water. And get his legs elevated." John said as he finished cleaning the second gash, which promptly started bleeding again, like the first. That was fine; well, at least there was less of a risk of infection with no foreign material in the wound, and the blood served to remove any addition pathogens that John had missed. However, the blood loss was getting to be a bit much for his level of training and John was well aware of that, thank you very much.

Sam did as he was told, putting four pills between two blank sheets of paper in his father's journal and using his metal coffee cup to bash them into little chunks. The chunks were brushed into the cup that demolished them and washed with just a swig of water from Sam's water bottle. He swirled the concoction around for a second before presenting it to Dad for approval.

"Good." John set aside the bag of saline, careful to prop it up so I wouldn't spill, and took the cup. "Check if the water's boiling."

Sam glared at his father. "You could just ask. You don't have to boss me around all the time."

"Just do it, Sam. We don't have time for this." John snapped. He pulled the man up some, supporting him with one arm. Then he tilted the man's head back, slowly pouring a few drops into his gasping mouth. As the guy tried to open his eyes again, he swallowed; John saw his chance. He dumped the rest into the guy's mouth and dropped the cup, pinning mystery man's jaw shut while pinching the man's nose to prevent any medicine from leaving him. "Swallow." John said loudly and firmly into the man's ear. He sputtered for a few seconds, trying fruitlessly to twist out of John's grasp, but eventually complied and was immediately released to resume his gasping.

Well, gasping and sobbing.

"Please don' hurt me. 'm sick." The man was full out crying now, cringing away from John as he started back with the saline. The snot was flowing freely now. "I- I don't- won't do that any-any more. I… I…"

The sudden lack of tone in the man's body and his equally as instant change in breathing from deep and panting to shallow and rapid alerted John to the fact that the man was now well into shock.

"You- you just had him in a choke hold. What the hell, Dad?" Sam exclaimed. John hadn't even noticed that Sam didn't leave immediately to go check the water. He'd seen the whole rather violent exchange.

"Water, Sam. And put the packs under his legs to elevate them. Push some more blood to his head." _No sense in apologizing for getting the job done._

"No." Sam snapped, anger in the pit of his stomach burning hotter than his hand. "You can't just bark orders at me and expect me to jump at your every call. You could've suffocated the guy. You-"

"You are _actively_ killing this man, Sam." John yelled, stopping the kid in his tracks. "Now is _not_ the time."

Sam left the tent in a cloud of angst as John finished washing out the last cut. It was much easier to do when the patient wasn't moving around much. Then again, John wished he were moving. This fragile stillness was so much worse than the sobbing fit.

"Water was boiling. I took it off." Sam said, defeated, as he returned. The teen shoved both hiking backpacks under the man's legs, lifting them a good eighteen inches off the ground. Inside the tent, the air was now balmy, thanks to the rocks in the corner, and yet the man's skin was still cool and clammy as Sam moved him around.

John started in with the sutures, hunched over and concentrating hard in the dim light. Sam watched, a bundle of teenage hormone-driven emotions, as the lacerations slowly closed up and stopped bleeding. By the time John was done, Sam already had one of their clean washcloths, a clean cup, and the pot of sterilized water ready at his side. Without a word, John took the washcloth and started cleaning the coagulated blood off of the man's skin, using the cup to add water to the cloth so the pot wouldn't be contaminated and the sticky blood wouldn't pull at the sutures. When the sutures and the surrounding areas were clean, he took the liberty to wipe off the guy's face too, with another cloth. Those tear tracks and rivers of snot were bothering the old hunter; this guy was still a kid. Where were his friends? His family? What the hell was he doing up here alone?

 _Unless he wasn't alone._ John thought as his heart dropped into his stomach. _Nothing to do about it tonight. No sense in wandering around in the dark._

Father and son then set about methodically wrapping their charge's torso in a thick layer of gauze, followed by an ACE bandage loosely layered on top to protect the delicate fibers beneath. Some pink was returning to the man's skin, which was no longer frigid. Upon taking his pulse, John found it to be much more regular than before, although still somewhat weak.

John then turned to the next most pressing matter: Sam's hand. "How's the hand?" He asked, anticipating but not looking forward to the bitter reaction he would receive for his concern.

"It hurts." Sam said softly, looking away. "But I can deal with it."

That was not what John was expecting. 'Why the hell would you care, Sarge?' 'I fix it myself.' 'It's fine.' All responses John was ready for and could counter easily. But this? No attitude, no defiance, no _Sam_ in his words? "You feelin' okay, son?" John asked, concern heavy in his voice.

"You were right. I almost killed him. Twice." Sam replied with sorrow lacing his tone.

John sighed. Of course Sam would find a way to pin this on himself. John would've kept the guy alive even if Sam went off to sulk in the corner of the tent for the night. _Then again, maybe this will teach him to listen the first time when I tell him to do something._ "He'll live. Now let's fix that hand before we put his shoulder back in."

"It's not even that bad. It can wait." Sam said, finally looking up at his dad as he hid his hand in his lap. Because that made perfect sense. That wasn't suspicious at all.

John walked around the man to sit at Sam's side. The oldest Winchester took his son's hand and turned it palm up in the light. The kid wouldn't even look at it. Several angry red and yellowish bubbles had popped up on Sam's palm in a diagonal exactly where the smoldering chunk of wood made contact. The skin around the area was bright red and black in places where the embers had fused with his hand. Most of the bleeding from his palm had stopped already, but his fingers were coated in the blood of two people regardless.

"Second degree. You've already got blisters. This, Sam," he paused, holding the hand up a little more. "This is something you should _always_ mention so it can be addressed. Any injury could become a huge problem on a case, especially one that's twenty miles from the car and forty from any chance of emergency care." John said evenly as he pulled out a pad of gauze and dunked it in the sterilized water. "Don't pop these; they'll get infected real easy out here." He set to work carefully removing the blood and blackened ash, and when all that was gone, he wiped the area down with an alcohol pad. Some burn cream was smeared on every red surface and Sam only gasped or cringed a few times during the whole process. Maybe John put more layers of gauze around his son's hand than necessary, but there was something about him having caused the injury that made him sure that it would get infected, sure it would permanently damage his little boy's hand.

"Thanks." Sam mumbled, absently inspecting the work as he settled the appendage back in his lap.

John sighed. He liked when Sam complied; it made everything so much easier. But when he got like this, it made John feel like the bad guy. As if he was entirely to blame for his son's resigned tone, the slumped shoulders, the watery eyes.

It reminded John that, in fact, he was to blame.

For everything.

 _Not now._ John took a deep breath and counted to ten before he was able to look at his hazel eyed, chestnut haired, scrawny little miracle.

"Now we can fix mystery man's shoulder. You feelin' up to helping an old man out?" John asked, trying to put a little humor in his voice.

It worked. Sam sniffed his nose and looked up, nodding slowly.

"Good. I need you to support him when we sit him up so I can put the shoulder back in joint." John quickly and efficiently lowered the man's legs off the packs and got him into a sitting position. Sam wriggled in behind the guy and used his left shoulder and right hand to keep the man from slipping back to the bed mat. It wasn't too hard; the man wasn't heavy and he was still out cold. And still cold. Sam could feel occasional shivers rack the man's body, but they were few and far between. The tent was warmer than it had been their entire trip.

"Hold him steady, and lean him forward a little." John said as he took hold of the man's hand and elbow. Sam did as instructed. "Maintain position." Carefully, John bent the man's elbow- _no damage there, good_ \- and swung the limp hand out in front of the guy while keeping the elbow pressed securely to the man's side. Then he slowly pulled the man's hand to the side until he could feel a tortured muscle start to spasm. Backing off just a little to stop the contractions, John held the hand in that position as he started to push gently but firmly on the back of the man's arm, moving the top half forward and guiding the ball of the man's humerus back towards the cup it should sit in. When it would move no further under the gentle pressure he applied, John _very_ slowly moved the hand back to the front position.

A satisfying pop and sudden jerk of the limb upward and into the socket had John smiling. "Alright, son. Lay him down."

The packs were put back under his legs, and John pulled out a couple chemical cold packs to cushion the joint into blissful numbness while the man slept. Sam brought in a few more hot rocks, unprompted, while John did a quick check of the man's legs through his jeans. Nothing more seemed amiss.

Except the fact that there was a half-naked man shivering on a blood soaked bed roll in the middle of the Winchester Family tent.

 _Looks about Sammy's size._ "Sam? You got a jacket or a hoodie or something that he can borrow until we get back to town?"

"Yeah." Sam perked up, diving to dig through his pack carefully without jostling the man's legs too much. He produced a navy blue hoodie and presented it to Dad.

"This one?" John asked, skeptical. "This is the one you bought new last fall. With the money you won from Uncle Bobby and me in a poker game that I'm pretty sure was rigged. It's the warmest thing you've got besides your coat."

"Exactly." Sam smiled, thinking that this was a good way to start to make up for almost killing the guy more than once.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. He can have it, if he needs it." Sam said with a shrug.

John smiled and chuckled softly, reaching up and ruffling Sam's hair before the kid had a chance to duck. "You're a good kid, Sam." Sam scoffed and immediately tried to fix his hair, letting it fall into his face to hide his proud little smirk.

"Let's work that bum arm into the sleeve first and then pull the rest over. Oh, wait-" John reached into his own pack and tugged out the only clean white shirt he had left.

It took a few minutes, but eventually the man was wrestled carefully into the layers and tucked in John's sleeping bag with his legs all wrapped up, resting securely on the backpacks. "Alright, Sammy. Bedtime. For real this time. Did you take your etho yet?"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. You don't have to tell me when to go to bed or when to take my medicine." Sam whined quietly even as he pulled his sleeping bag over himself.

"I know. But I'll always be your father and habits die hard. So are we good?" John asked, looking over the kid shaped lump in the far corner.

"Yeah, I took it before all that happened." Sam said, waving a hand out of his sleeping bag to motion at the man beside him.

"Good. Now get to sleep." John said. "I'll take the night watch."

Sam's eyes, which had been inching further shut with each blink, were suddenly alert. "Night watch?"

"We've got a stranger in our tent and possibly others wandering the forest looking for him. Even if he was alone, I'm not leaving him to rip us off while we're sleeping."

"Dad, he's not even conscious. He's recovering from shock and it can't be easy to move with those tears in his side. And it's not like he's going to wake up any time soon." Sam yawned. He tried, but couldn't stop it from slipping out. "And even if he did, he won't be able to get far before we find him again."

John watched the boy's eyes begin to droop again and he had to smirk. Even trying to be tough and bull-headed like his Daddy, his kid was adorable. Still so innocent, full of light and joy, yet overflowing with spunk and motivation; just the kind of son any father would be proud to have. John wondered every now and then how different he would have turned out if the first year and a half of his life had happened differently, but he only entertained those thoughts for a few seconds at a time while the kid was actually nearby. The nights when he was alone on a case, or Sam was out working on group projects with his classmates or something, those were the only times John let his mind wander back to that dark time in their lives. "I'll see you in the morning, squirt."

"Whatever." Sam rolled over in his sleeping bag, putting his back to his father and the man. He wouldn't admit it, but he was more exhausted than he had been in a long time, and it kind of scared him. Hunting revolved around being alert and observant at all times, and when he got too tired, bad things happened. Dad was usually there to save him, but Sam had more than a few scars to keep it 'usually' and not 'always'. He hated that he couldn't even take care of himself when he was that tired.

But tonight, he didn't need to take care of himself. Tonight, Dad was watching over him and the stranger between them. And Sam felt safer than he had in a long time.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! But I won't know unless you tell me. So leave me a review. See you next week!**


	3. I'm Only Sleeping

**A/N: Vivi here! This is a tiny, tiny chapter. I wanted to separate this from the next chapter because there's a bit of a rough transition. Don't worry, I'll post both at the same time so it's not too terrible of a wait. Also, I forgot to add Sick!Sam to the tags last week. So here you go. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"I'll see you in the morning, squirt."_

 _"Whatever." Sam rolled over in his sleeping bag, putting his back to his father and the man. He wouldn't admit it, but he was more exhausted than he had been in a long time, and it kind of scared him. Hunting revolved around being alert and observant at all times, and when he got too tired, bad things happened. Dad was usually there to save him, but Sam had more than a few scars to keep it 'usually' and not 'always'. He hated that he couldn't even take care of himself when he was that tired._

 _But tonight, he didn't need to take care of himself. Tonight, Dad was watching over him and the stranger between them. And Sam felt safer than he had in a long time._

* * *

John was making additions to his journal by the glow of a tiny flashlight held securely in his teeth. They'd learned a lot about wendigoes this time around and he wanted to make sure none of it was forgotten; any little piece of info could prove to be the difference between life and death for the next hunter who got it. A thought popped into his head: _maybe a flare gun would do the trick_. He was just about to put a question mark after 'flare gun' on the already information-packed page when he heard a soft whimpering and a deeper groan from deeper in the tent. He lifted his head, shining the light over to Sam, who was still sound asleep and breathing evenly. Then he moved the light to the stranger, whose face was tight and whose good arm seemed to be trying to move inside the sleeping bag. He still seemed to be sleeping, although barely.

The flashlight was removed from John's mouth and pressed against a small jug of water, bathing the tent in a very dim light. One that wouldn't wake Sam, but would allow John to work. He pressed two fingers to the man's neck and, once satisfied that he was no longer in shock, unzipped the sleeping bag. Almost immediately, the sleeping man dug his elbow into the bed mat and lifted his back off of the floor with a pained expression on his face. The action seemed to exhaust the man, who settled back down just a few moments later with another pitiful whimper.

Trying not to wake the guy, and therefore Sam, John settled his legs on the mat and pushed the packs out of the way. Then, with one hand on the man's hip and the other carefully gripping his bad shoulder, John tilted him up onto his left side and eased him down onto his stomach. He adjusted the man's head so that he could breathe easily and made sure there wasn't too much pressure on the stitches before lifting Sam's hoodie and his own shirt to reveal the man's back.

As he expected, a massive bruise had formed. It was already the deepest black John had seen in quite a while and it was no doubt the source of the man's anguish. Letting the layers fall back into place and sealing the sleeping bag up again, John wondered if they had enough pain medication to get this guy back to town on his own two feet without him passing out again.

At least the man calmed down after the change of position. Soon he was snoring just as lightly as Sam, their breaths coming as staggered signs of comfortable, safe sleep. John went back to writing in his journal.

Sam woke up first. That was no surprise. But he did it an hour before the sun was supposed to rise and demanded that his father get a few hours of sleep. It didn't take much to persuade him; John was dead tired from hiking all day yesterday and then the debacle last night just about did him in. And the man hadn't moved since he was rolled over hours ago. He told his son to wake him up if the man started to move or wake up, or if he heard voices, or if anything happened, or it he needed anything. He also said to shoot first. Sam just rolled his eyes.

As John's first snores began to roll out of the tent, Sam hauled the last few rocks that held any heat into the tent, which had cooled off a bit in the night. Then he sealed it up and took a test prep book out of his pack to read. It was small and John hadn't seen him stash it in there. Usually unnecessary weight was prohibited on these trips.

An hour after the sun rose, and the temperature with it, Sam left the tent and only zipped it shut part way, so he could still see and hear everything happening inside as he sat out near the fire, which was now little more than red coals. In no time he had it roaring again, with the pot from last night dumped out and refilled with water from a nearby stream. They had run the mostly clear water through a crude sand filter yesterday and collected in a thick, flexible, plastic water bag. It would be fine to drink after he boiled it for ten minutes or so.

Which happened to be just about as much time as he would need before Dad, who was now rolling over in his sleep, woke up and went searching for coffee. Sam snuck back into the tent and silently removed three MREs from Dad's pack. Back outside, he tore two open without looking at what they were- they were all equally gross to him- and got the portions that needed heating tucked into their ration heating sleeves. Those would be ready about the same time as the water for the coffee that was still in the MRE bags with the rest of the stuff they shipped those with.

John tried to be quiet about it. He knew that Sam knew he was waking up, but he didn't want to be caught snooping through the guy's stuff. Luckily, Sam's face was stuck in a book- where did that come from? _Whatever._ John rolled his eyes as he patted down the man's pockets. Since he hadn't come with any bags, those seemed to be the only place he could have things hidden away. Sure enough, he felt three cylinders on one side and a single cylinder on the other. Unzipping the sleeping bag just enough to get at the pockets, John retrieved the contents of each. Three standard buckshot shells, ready to go, and one that looked homemade. There was a crude S carved into the bottom of that one. Aside from the shells, he found $4 and a small lanyard with a key on it. It puzzled John; why would a mostly grown man have a lanyard with those kid's letter beads on it? The chunky white ones with black letters on four sides. Stranger still, those were the only beads on the tiny keychain. NAED, it spelled, from top to bottom. _That's a weird name. If it's a name._

He set those things on Sam's sleeping bag and moved to the gear duffel, where he'd chucked the sawed off shotgun the night before. It was old, but not an antique, and looked well used. All identifying marks had either worn off or be shaved off with a knife. The barrel looked crudely cut and had sharp edges, and there was one round of buckshot still in the chamber. _Makes sense. Only heard one bang._ John returned the gun to the duffel, along with the three normal shells.

That fourth one, though. John had to know what it was. It looked just like the rock salt rounds he and Sammy would spend a day or so a month making with their old machine. Maybe if he could figure out what was inside he'd have a better chance at figuring out who this person was. Was he a game hunter who wandered too far searching for deer? A hiker who wanted protection 'just in case'? Or maybe he lived nearby. The locals said there were abandoned cabins in these woods that the homeless of the nearby city sometimes took to. Maybe he was homeless. He certainly looked homeless.

It didn't take long to pop the crimped end of the shell and dump out the contents. One lopsided wad of steely metal fell into John's hand. With his knife, John tapped it. The pleasant 'ting' it made, combined with the color, left the experienced hunter with only one option.

Silver.

Why was this guy carrying a silver bullet?

John looked slowly from the lump in his hand to the man still unconscious in his sleeping bag. _We've got a young hunter on our hands._

A few minutes of thoughtful introspection later, Dad emerged from the tent, satisfied that Sammy had been able to keep the situation under control while he slept. And more than satisfied that he had breakfast ready.

"Mornin' Sammy." John grunted as he settled onto the ground next to his son.

"Morning." Sam replied, scratching at the back of his head. He couldn't wait to get back to civilization and take a shower; he loved nature, but he hated feeling gross for so long.

"What's for breakfast?"

Sam shrugged. "I didn't look."

"These coffee packs? Did you check for that?" John asked with a raised eyebrow. "Because I am not drinking lemon tea this early in the morning."

"Yeah, the one's an A and the other two are B's. I did look at that." Sam defended himself, holding up one bag. "And the water should be ready now."

"Ten minutes?"

"Yeah. Probably twelve by now. I added enough to fill three water bottles and three cups. Just in case he decides to come around in time for breakfast." Sam said, glancing back at the limp figure on the floor of the tent. "Is he really more comfortable face down?"

"He was making a ruckus last night, kept trying to keep the pressure off of his bruise. Stopped when I turned him over, so yes." John said as he watched the man through the unzipped tent door. He hadn't moved since John flipped him. "Not sure he'll make it for the morning grub."

"Well, if he does, there's water for coffee." Sam said.

John reached between them and picked up one of the bags, glancing at each before making his choice. "Six, one, and seven, huh? I call the six."

"Oh, but I hate beef with rice before like, three in the afternoon." Sam whined, finally looking down to see just what he chose to remove from the hiking pack. "It makes my stomach cramp up."

"Alright, you can have the franks and fruit. But I get some of your M&Ms." John smiled as Sam rolled his eyes with a hint of a grin on his face. Sometimes Sam wondered if other kids his age knew all sixteen MRE menus by heart. Then he stopped and reminded himself that he wasn't like all the other kids. He'd made his peace with that long ago.

"Fine."

They made their coffee, chilled fingers wrapped tightly around the warm metal cups as little wisps of steam rose through the morning air. It was almost peaceful. Sam tried to forget that there was a pile of ash still smoldering not twenty feet from where he sat.

* * *

 **A/N: More coming in mere minutes! Who do you think the person is? Because, c'mon, if you haven't guessed yet...**


	4. Road to Nowhere

**A/N: Vivi here! Here's the next chapter, as promised. Hope you can keep up with all these rapid fire perspective changes; I'm trying a new style. New tags will be listed at the bottom A/N. And don't be too shocked by who the 'mystery man' is. As if you couldn't guess...**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _They made their coffee, chilled fingers wrapped tightly around the warm metal cups as little wisps of steam rose through the morning air. It was almost peaceful. Sam tried to forget that there was a pile of ash still smoldering not twenty feet from where he sat._

* * *

 _Shit._ Dean groaned, not wanting to go back to the light behind his eyelids. Because with the light came consciousness and for some reason consciousness was pain this morning. Again.

 _What happened last night?_ He wondered, acutely aware of the throbbing in his skull, side, shoulder, back, and hip. _Another bar brawl?_ That thought was tossed out when he didn't find the familiar buzz of a hangover fluttering in his head, or the welcome bloat of too much comfort food in his stomach. Just an aching throb in both places, growing and relenting with each beat of his heart.

 _I get jumped? Beat to hell and left in an alley again?_ But that couldn't be it either. The air wafting past his face was warm.

 _W-warm?_ Dean couldn't wrap his head around the thought. It was late October; he hadn't been actually, thoroughly warm in weeks. Not since the last heat of summer waned and his disappointment of a car lost its heating fan. But… no, he wasn't still dreaming. He was warm. Like all over warm. _Kidnapped?_ But the air didn't smell stale or rank like an abandoned building or a makeshift cell. It smelled like pine scented floor cleaner.

And his face felt clean. _What the hell happened to me?_

Another groan escaped his throat. _Did I get picked up by the cops again? How am I gonna talk my way out of this? They probably already have me in a cell. Damn it._

Slowly, Dean became aware of the other sensations on his skin. He still had his sneakers, those hadn't been stolen. _Who would want 'em though?_ He was still wearing jeans, always a good sign, and his belt buckle dug rather painfully into his stomach, signifying that it had held its ground against any potential intruders. The fabric around his abdomen and lower back was stiff, but around his chest, below his belly button, and on his upper back the feeling was oh so soft. Not the scratchy old hoodie he lifted from a thrift shop a couple weeks ago. And… his arms had a different kind of give wrapping them. This was more fuzzy than knit. And not itchy. _Not itchy?_

Under his face, too, was different. It was a little itchy, but still mostly soft. And it squished when he tried to turn his head against it. Not concrete. Not hardened earth. Not the grimy back seat of his economy car. Not the rock hard mattress of a police station or a homeless shelter. It was all so _soft._ Hospital, maybe? _Did I get that messed up yesterday?_

Then he smelled it. _Coffee._ Dean loved coffee. It was cheap and warmed him up some as he wandered the town each day, looking for a job. Whether it paid or not really didn't matter. He liked ridding the world of all the unnatural monsters he could get his hands on. And he could get by hustling pool and faking his way through a poker game. He couldn't really afford enough food on that lifestyle, or gas for his car that hadn't moved in weeks up until yesterday, but-

 _OH SHIT._ Dean's eyes flew open and immediately squeezed shut again. The light was blinding in… wherever he was. He was pretty sure it was indoors, though. Somehow the werewolf hadn't killed him. But… _Did I kill the wolf?_ Maybe it kidnapped him instead of ripping his heart out. _That's dumb. They don't do that, idiot. Get with it, man._

He took another deep breath and coughed hard against the wad of mucus in this throat. _Damn it. Don't do that. You know not to do that._ He scolded himself. If he breathed too deep, he coughed. And it hurt. And that crap would build up in his throat so he would have to swallow it and then he'd throw up a mucus ball and lose whatever calories he'd managed to scrounge up the previous day. For the past few weeks, he'd been telling himself that it would get better on its own, if he ignored it long enough. But it wasn't, and he knew that. He just didn't have the means to go see a doctor, or a nurse, or a health department employee. If it got bad enough, he'd just go the emergency room and get treatment and then sneak away. He could do that pretty easy, right? But only if he had to.

"He's waking up."

Dean froze, not even breathing. The last time he heard those words, he got kicked in the face and then broke some kid's nose before he could get away from the teenage punks and the alley he passed out in the night before.

'Just sleep in your car.' A woman had told him as she walked passed him, having seen the whole scene unfold. He plugged his bleeding nose and glared at her. His car was two miles outside the city, hidden in a little patch of woods so it wouldn't get towed for sitting so long in a parking lot somewhere.

"Stay back, Sam." A deeper voice spoke this time.

 _Two on one isn't even fair._ Dean sighed in dread, knowing that he couldn't defend himself well enough with all the areas on his body that were screaming out to him for relief. He tried to raise his arms to protect his head but _holy- What happened to my arm?!_

"Take it easy there, kid."

 _Police. Has to be._ Dean ground his teeth together and tried to use his good arm to push himself onto his hands and knees. Something was wrapped all around him, though; he couldn't even get his arm under his body. _If I got wrapped in cling wrap again, I'm gonna break more than a nose-_

The sound made Dean jump and had his eyes opening on their own. He was met with the figure of a big man kneeling next to him, on the side his head was facing. The loud buzzing sound stopped and suddenly he could move his arm up to protect his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe evenly through the blind fear and ragged pain that consumed him.

"You're safe now. We're not going to hurt you." The deep voice said gently.

It pained John to see the kid have a reaction this rehearsed as he came slowly out of the fog that was surely clouding his head. Undoubtedly, the concussion would be throbbing against his skull with every heartbeat. The man must be in terrible pain by now. He hadn't had any medicine since John force fed him. "I have some pain pills for you."

Dean turned his head to the other side, having fallen for that lie before. "No."

"It'll help. Just trust me."

"No way in hell." Dean groaned, panting against the pain building in his side from having his arm so high up. He must've been hurt there too. "Just leave me alone."

"No can do, kiddo."

 _What is going on here? No one calls me kiddo. The cops say kid, but no one says kiddo. That's- that's for kids who have people who like them._ Dean couldn't help the little yelp of pain from slipping through his lips as he brought his arm back to his side, stopping the sharp, shooting pain there. "What happened to me?"

"Got pretty beat up out in those woods yesterday. My son and I found you." John said, not quite willing to mention the wendigo just yet. What if he wasn't a hunter? "Where are your friends? Were you camping?"

 _So the wolf did this to me. But these guys couldn't have scared it off. It would've just slaughtered all of us. So how am I alive?_ Dean wondered, blinking against another pulse of sharp pain from his side. _And how am I warm?_

"What's your name? Do you remember?" John asked, concerned by the lack of response or motivated movement. "You're safe here."

 _Do I say I'm alone and risk… all that? Or do I tell him I'm camped out nearby and try to leave? No way I can get out of this godforsaken forest alone._ Dean hated to admit it, but he needed these people to get him back to safety. That werewolf was still out there, probably stalking them as they spoke. "Camping." Dean groaned.

"Alone?"

 _Well, they haven't killed me yet. Belt's still in place, too._ Dean mused, taking in the tent and its contents as they slowly came into focus. _Even put me in a sleeping bag. Wow. Well, maybe they won't hurt me after all. Worth a shot, I guess. How much worse can this get, anyways?_ "Yeah."

John huffed a humorless laugh. "Not really a good idea out in these parts, kid."

"Yeah."

"You got a name?"

"No."

 _Not a name, not even a rude comment, or 'none of your business'. Definitely a hunter._ "I found a weird bullet in your pocket. Mind explaining that?" John asked.

"You went through his pockets?" Sam hissed behind him. John ignored the angry kid.

 _Well shit. There goes the last of my winnings from the other day._ Dean sighed, not surprised that he was pickpocketed in his sleep. _Or unconsciousness. Basically the same thing. How am I gonna get that stupid bullet back to finish this wolf and protect these idiots so they can get me back in one piece?_ "I need that." That was all Dean could come up with. He even tried to glare at the man without moving too much. He was big, this guy. Dark hair, two day beard, thick arms and legs. No way Dean could fight him for the bullet, not in this condition. But that kid behind him… He was a little smaller than Dean and at least Dean had a chance with him. _Hostage situation?_ If it meant getting that $36 bullet back, he'd try it. Took him three days to scrounge up that much cash.

"Why?"

"Because it's mine."

"Well it's mine now, unless you tell me why you need it."

Dean growled and tried to push himself up again, this time, despite the roaring pain in his arm, torso, and back, he managed to get on all fours and properly glare at the guy. Poor dude looked surprised. _Why not just tell them the truth? If they don't believe you, you can always blame it on the concussion later._ "I'm hunting." Dean snapped as he straightened up to support himself only on his knees. It was killing his shoulder, but he hated feeling so vulnerable on the floor.

"Not hunting season up here. That's illegal." John said, testing the waters as the kid swayed dangerously back and forth in front of him.

"Not hunting game." Dean grimaced as he leaned back to see around the man. The tent door was open, and the kid was right there, staring like an idiot. On second thought, the kid looked stronger than he anticipated. Maybe he should just make a grab for the bullet and run.

"What were you hunting then?"

He looked back at the man. Unconsciously, Dean grabbed his right elbow and lifted the pull of his arm off his aching joint, shifting the weight to his left shoulder. The throbbing let up a little. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Look, kid, if you don't fess up we won't help you back to town." John lied. He watched in satisfaction as the boy's eyes widened for a split second before a look of arrogant annoyance settled in place. This plan might actually work.

"I don't need help." Dean lied. Of course his stomach chose that time to growl and cramp up. " _Shit_." Dean hissed, hoping they hadn't heard. All he wanted was to double over- it had been a long time since he last ate- but then his back would spasm and floor him.

"Out with it. The sooner you tell us, the sooner you can eat. Then we can head out." John said, hoping the lure of food would tempt the kid's empty stomach into convincing his brain to talk. Obviously this scrawny little guy hadn't eaten in a while and food would be his biggest selling point.

 _They're even gonna feed me._ Dean thought in amazement. _I guess they aren't so bad after all… yet. Guess I won't attack his kid. Wouldn't win anyway._ "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Dean bit his lip. The last time he tried to tell someone what he was hunting, they laughed at him, called him crazy. And called the cops to report some guy high off his ass on the street. "It was- uh, I'm looking for… a wolf."

John's eyes narrowed. Silver bullet? Looking for a wolf? "A werewolf."

Dean couldn't believe what he just heard. He was speechless, just staring at the man as his son walked away like it was nothing for his father to just suggest the crazed man in their tent was hunting a supernatural creature of the night.

John saw the kid's eyes get even wider than before and he started to laugh. Hard. This kid trying to wriggle his way out of the conversation was the funniest thing he'd witnessed in a while. The doe eyes, the tough-guy glare, the 'oh shit' look… By the time he was done, the boy looked nervous and somehow much smaller than before. "Don't worry, kid. We're hunters too. I was just messing with you."

 _Great. A couple of gun happy deer hunters. At least they haven't kicked me out yet. Any port in a storm…_ "Right." Dean breathed, watching as the man reached into his pocket and produced the silver bullet.

"You won't need this though." John set the bullet in front of the kid, not wanting him to have to let go of his bad arm. The shoulder was undoubtedly bruised and on fire by now. "It was a wendigo."

This time, Dean didn't have a thought in his head as he deadpanned the strange guy in front of him. It never occurred to him that these people could be hunters like him. He thought they were just campers when he followed them up the mountain, sure that they would get killed if he didn't keep an eye on them while also watching out for the werewolf. But it wasn't a werewolf killing people out in the middle of nowhere.

What was a wendigo?

"And we killed it after it got to you."

No response, no movement.

"Sorry about not getting there sooner." John was starting to worry that the kid was going back into shock. His face paled and he swayed loosely on his knees. "Why don't you sit down? Sammy'll bring you breakfast-in-tent while I make a sling for that arm."

"What?" Dean whispered, sure he heard wrong. No one would give food _and_ medicine _and_ this much kindness to a rough, skinny homeless kid, a _hunter_ , barely eighteen years old. He had nothing to offer in return; literally nothing. No money- wait, he had $4 left over from buying that bullet. Okay, so he had $4, but he couldn't help them back, he couldn't protect them, not that they needed protection. Obviously, they were much more experienced than he in the life. He doubted that they'd want illegal compensation, not that Dean did that anymore. He promised himself he would never willingly stoop that low again after he left Lucy back in Washington.

"Sit, before you pass out." John said, already gathering up the shredded hoodie that they found the man in. Some of it wasn't bloody and he could use it to make a sling that was supportive enough to keep the kid's shoulder from popping out again on the way back to the car.

Dean plopped down gingerly on his good hip and stuck his legs out in front of him, folding them to keep them close and out of harm's way. He looked up when he heard the sound of a knife going through fabric. "Is that my hoodie?" Dean demanded, shocked that it was over there and not-

"Yeah. It's not worth much anymore. Wendigo put four good tears in it after you shot at it. Just pissed him off, by the way. You have to burn those suckers." John said, focusing on his task. "Everything else just makes 'em mad."

The man sounded so nonchalant about all this. Dean felt immensely uncomfortable and when he looked down at himself, he almost flinched away. He still had his sneakers and jeans, yeah, but the hem of a white shirt stuck out from under a navy blue hoodie that was so soft it made Dean want to sleep forever. With wide, teary eyes and his jaw hanging open slightly in awe, Dean looked back to the man who almost had a sling fashioned from his old, threadbare piece of crap. The gray thing was stained red in some places, and the back was brown with little clumps of dirt and leaf litter. The whole right side was cut open, and as the man had mentioned earlier, four tears broke the outline of the left flank. _How close had I been to…_

John looked up once he finished the sling and was surprised to see that the boy was crying, just little drops working their way down his face, with big green eyes trained right on the old hunter's face. "You okay? 'Cuz we got ibuprofen. You've gotta be aching somethin' bad by now." He reached behind him to pull the med kit into his lap.

"Why are you doing this?"

John looked back at the kid, who was trying to keep his lip from quivering by biting it. "We help people. That's what hunters do." John tossed four foil packets of ibuprofen into the boy's lap, smiling as he flinched away from them. "They won't bite. 800 milligrams should take most of the pain away. Just remind me in four hours and I'll pull out some more for you." He tied one last knot in the sling and deemed it finished. "Can I help you put this on? Or are you going to take a swing when I get close?" John asked with a wary tone.

"I- I can't do it myself, I don't think." The kid's voice was barely a whisper. "I promise not to hit you."

"Alright. We're making progress." John went to kneel in front of the boy and put the sling over his good shoulder before guiding his bad arm securely into place. "Better?"

Dean sniffed his nose and nodded, resisting the urge to cough something up.

John, on the other hand, was slightly worried about the temperature of the kid's skin. Last night, he had been freezing, and that was no surprise. But now he felt hot. As in fever hot. It's not uncommon to have a mild fever after a traumatic injury, but this wasn't a mild fever. If John had to guess, he'd say 102 degrees Fahrenheit at least. When Sam got fevers this high, John made him stay home from school and read books in bed all day. No way would he even think about letting his son walk twenty miles through dense forest in this condition. Not to mention the cuts, the bruises, the dislocated shoulder- Sam would be laid up for a week, at least. John couldn't risk losing another-

 _Stop. Not the time._ John shook his head and looked up in time to see Sammy coming back with two cups of coffee.

"I brought yours too, Dad." He handed one cup to his father and the other to… "I think I missed your name. I'm Sam."

"I didn't say my name." Dean said quietly, glaring suspiciously into the steaming cup.

"So you do have a name." John teased.

"Yeah, but it's not mine." Dean said. _Could be drugged. Maybe I should just say I don't like coffee._ Dean hadn't even finished the thought before he was taking a sip of the wonderful black liquid and melting into a more relaxed posture as it soothed his sore throat.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, sitting next to his father and facing the new guy.

"It's complicated." Dean said, sending the kid a humorless grin. _He's pretty curious to be a hunter's son. Daddy must be one tough SOB to keep his kid out of all the trouble questions like that can stir up. Lucky._

"We have time." John said, mirroring Dean as he savored his next mouthful of coffee.

The hot liquid hit Dean's stomach and had it cramping again, but this time he could curl up a little to lessen the pain. "I'm adopted, okay? My birth parents abandoned me. I was little… couldn't remember my name." Dean stared into his cup as he swirled it around and around to distract himself, holding down the grunts of pain that so desperately wanted to come out. Doing that kept his mind off of trying not to feel or show any of the intense emotions that came with retelling this story over and over to police, shelter counselors, ER doctors…

"So what should we call you? 'Kid' is getting old, and obviously you don't fit that very well." John said, hoping to finally get a name. Truthfully, the guy fit the description of 'kid' well enough for John to keep calling him that, and he probably would, but he needed a name to find out who this kid belonged to and get him home.

"I'd rather you not call me anything." Dean said, finally making eye contact.

"What? Why?" Sam asked, obviously confused.

"Can't tell you why." Dean said. "Sorry."

"Then gives us a fake name." John said finally, willing to let it go for the time being. They needed to get going soon if they were to return to the car before sundown. This conversation had gone on long enough.

"A fake name? Why?" Dean seemed confused.

"So if we get separated, Sam and I have something to yell that you'll respond to." John said.

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why would we get separated?"

"Things happen, kid. It's not under my control. There are ravines, rivers, hell I think there's even a sudden-drop cave or two around." John said, growing more and more frustrated by the stubborn boy before him. He had no intention of leaving their new camping buddy out here, or letting him go hungry and unprotected, but if he didn't hurry up they'd have to spend another night out here. And something in John _really_ wanted to get this bull-headed kid to a clinic ASAP.

"I don't know your name." Dean gestured with his cup towards the older man, then looked to the kid beside him. "You're… you're Sam. But I don't know who you are."

"Name's John. Winchester." He said, before deciding to add a little extra information to the exchange in hopes that it would satisfy no-name. "This here's my son. He's all I've got left in this world."

Sam's face grew somber after that, looking away to watch as his fingers picked at a hangnail.

Dean had a feeling that there was more to that story, much more, but he realized that he had probably aggravated these hunters enough. "Ross."

"Your name is Ross?" Sam looked up.

"No, but that's what you can call me." Dean lied. Part of him wanted to tell them his whole name, but he knew better. Nothing good had ever come of telling people his full name. Just made it easier for Winthrop to find him.

"Ross it is then. Hope you like beef." John said, getting up.

Soon all three were seated outside, eating their meals in silence. Dean finally took the pills John gave him. They were still sealed, and labeled in the original packaging, so Dean decided he could trust that they were safe. He did the same thing with the MRE. It too was sealed, so he was happy to partake.

"Slow down, Ross." John warned, watching carefully as the kid ate faster than anyone he'd ever seen, even though his left hand held the fork rather poorly. In the back of his mind, he wondered when Ross had last eaten; the man was acting like this was the first time in days he'd had anything substantial to fill his stomach with. And even John couldn't convince himself that MREs were _that_ good. "You'll make yourself sick."

Dean glared at the man for a moment before continuing on at the same pace. He didn't want to waste time getting the calories in; what if they decided to take it back, or it was time to leave before he finished? That Sam kid was eyeing him up and making him nervous. He knew he'd never win a fight in this condition, though he would fight for his food if necessary. Then again, he sure as hell didn't want to be left out here to die.

"No one's going to take it from you. Just slow down." John said casually, as he continued with his own meal. "Sam and I are going to break camp after we're done, so you have plenty of time."

Dean was skeptical.

Turns out he had no right to be. Even though he finished before either Winchester, they didn't ask him to stand and help. In fact, John even threw a package of corn chips into his lap when Dean had polished off his entire meal.

They didn't even ask him to carry a bag. "Do you, uh, have my gun?" Dean asked, hesitant to bring up a weapon among strangers. "It was my father's."

John nodded, feeling the steady thump the gear duffel on his thigh as they made their way very slowly through the undergrowth of the forest in the direction of the trailhead. He didn't want to push Ross too hard for the first hour or so. And gauging by the way the kid was huffing and puffing, he had failed in his attempt. "It's safe."

"Was your father a hunter too?" Sam asked, curiosity practically burning a hole in his brain. He desperately wanted to know more about this new hunter; Sam didn't get to meet very many of Dad's friends, and this guy seemed pretty close to his age, although not too close. A couple grade levels ahead of him, maybe. Close enough.

Dean glanced at Sam as they walked side by side through a clearing. John had pulled ahead, acting as the trail guide, but Sam was kind enough to slow down for Dean. He seemed to see how much it hurt to move even this slowly, with every step jolting little bolts of electricity through Ross' shoulder and making his side and bruised joint burn from the inside out. Not to mention that his new friend's lungs couldn't seem to provide enough oxygen without him sucking in air like a mouth breather. _He's gotta be sick._ Sam thought nervously. _Really sick. What if we can't get him back? What if we can't find his mom and dad before he needs to go to the hospital, or after even?_

"My sperm donor? I don't know. Probably not. But the guy who raised me was. Specialized in werewolves. Started me young. We didn't do much else." Dean said, scolding himself for letting so much information about himself out in one breath.

 _Specialized in werewolves, adopted a kid, dead._ John noted. _Have to make some calls later and see if I can narrow down a few families or hunters. Get the word out that somebody's missing kid has been found._

"And he gave you his shotgun?" Sam asked. "That's cool. Kinda like passing the torch, right?"

"He died. I took it." Dean panted, nearly falling into John's kid when his foot landed on a branch and set him off balance. Sam caught him and pushed him back into an upright position like it was nothing. John didn't even turn around. _Don't hurt the kid. Don't fall on the kid. Don't scare the kid. Just don't do anything to make them leave you. You have no idea where you are and you have no weapon to defend yourself._ Dean lectured himself, glancing nervously between the big guy and the little guy.

"Oh. Sorry." Sam stammered. "I- I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry about it. It's a dangerous gig. He drew the short straw." Dean grunted, watching his every footfall like a hawk. "It was my fault anyway."

That stopped John in his tracks. The boys caught up to him and they continued as a group. "What's this about your father?" He asked, hoping to get some more information that he could pass around to his buddies and figure out exactly who this kid was. Maybe then he could find a family member, or a good friend who would take him in. Kid looked terrible and it was pretty obvious that he'd had a rough go of living the way he was. He needed someone responsible to look after him for at least a few weeks while he healed. Someone to keep him off the job and indoors as winter set in.

"I don't want to talk about it." Dean said flatly.

* * *

 **A/N: New tags: Hurt!Dean, Sick!Dean. Let me know what you think of the chapter. If you have any guesses about this Dean's background story, I wanna hear them! It'll be slowly unveiled in the fic, but I love hearing guesses! See you soon!**


	5. More Than Words

**A/N: Vivi here! I hope it wasn't too much of a shock that mystery guy is Dean. Cuz I know _no one_ guessed that. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Let me know what you think in the reviews!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Kid looked terrible and it was pretty obvious that he'd had a rough go of living the way he was. He needed someone responsible to look after him for at least a few weeks while he healed. Someone to keep him off the job and indoors as winter set in._

 _"I don't want to talk about it." Dean said flatly._

* * *

Dean didn't say anything more for four hours, no matter how hard Sam tried to get a response out of him. It wasn't until a branch brushed his left side and he cried out that he made a sound. He fell back against a tree trying to get away from the pain and put most of his body weight on the massive bruise covering much of his back. That pain strangled the scream in his throat and he collapsed to his hand and knees, releasing what remained of breakfast onto an undeserving fern.

When he was finished retching and had ridden out the pain, he couldn't find it in himself to move from that relatively low pain position, even as bad as it smelled. It was all he could do to stop the sobs and wet coughs from further aggravating his side.

"Ross?" Sam called, jogging back to where Ross fell. After so many hours of no conversation, Sam had gone to walk with his father in silence, feeling a little uncomfortable pestering the stranger who obviously wanted to be left alone. Sam was pretty sure he'd get through to him though. The guy wasn't mean and he looked like he could be really nice if only he would just talk.

"You okay, kid?" John returned as well, moving to kneel next to Ross. He did a quick damage assessment and decided that the shoulder was still in place after the fall, but he didn't know if any of the stitches had popped. He doubted that Ross would let him check, so he just hoped for an honest answer.

"I'm fine." Dean sobbed, blood rushing to his face at the show of weakness.

"Been about four hours, hasn't it? That medicine is long gone by now; why didn't you speak up?" John asked, reaching into his pocket and producing the wonderful little circles.

Dean didn't have a good answer for that. He just felt like he should be able to at least _walk_ without needing assistance from strangers.

When no answer came, John pulled Ross carefully up and away from the mess he'd made, helping him stand and supporting him until he could support himself. A pained exhale was the only sign Ross gave of what he was suffering. "You good?" John asked.

Dean nodded, but he was not 'good'. He felt like he wanted to puke again. And again. And again. Until all this pain was gone and he could walk out like the hunter he was.

"Are you going to be able to keep pills down?" John asked when Ross' face turned a sickly green.

Dean nodded again. Maybe those pills would help the nausea. And if he ended up losing them, then the Winchesters should probably just leave him out here, because there would be no way he would make it the remaining fifteen miles.

He lost them after one mile of fighting with his innards.

And they decided that was a good enough time to stop for lunch.

As much as he didn't want to eat, a hot, sealed little package of chili with noodles in it was placed before him, and he couldn't resist. The food actually helped. A lot. So did the warm tea Sam handed him when they decided he was holding together well enough. And John gave him more pain medicine, which stayed down and took the edge off when they continued on.

 _I could get used to this._ Dean thought with a little smile. Jerold was never so forgiving when he got sick. Either he was well enough to hunt a wolf or he had to stay with Lucy. And boy was Lucy not fun to be around. Mean old housewife with her wooden spoon and endless chores. But this little family, they actually seemed to love each other, even if they had been constantly bickering about the choice of accommodations in town since lunch ended. Dean tuned most of it out, choosing instead to watch where his feet were going and look out for any low hanging branches.

When the sun fell below the tree line, they stopped. John seemed to be disappointed and muttered something about a clinic and only making it twelve miles. Dean wasn't really paying attention. He was exhausted; his legs were shaking, his lungs hurt, he was freezing cold, and on top of it all, he was pretty sure his side was bleeding. _Way to ruin their hoodie, idiot._

They didn't ask him to help them set up the tent; they seemed to have it down to a science. Only took them three minutes to put it up. One more to populate it with two sleeping bags and two bed rolls, with two packs and a duffel in the corner.

Dean wondered if he would get a sleeping bag; he was freezing and the temperature was still dropping. Even this awesome hoodie wasn't keeping the cold away from his skin. But then he saw that one of the bed mats, which was supposed to be blue, had a huge red stain on it. Had _his_ red stain on it. He realized that no, he probably wouldn't get a sleeping bag or a bed mat. He'd ruined their property, and was still using a lot of it up- medicine, food, water, clothes. He had no right to ask anything of them. Hell, he might not even be invited into the tent. And that would be fine. Wouldn't be the first time he'd slept outside. Wouldn't be the last either.

"Earth to Ross." Sam called from the door of the tent. "It's getting dark. You comin' in or what?"

"Me?" Dean asked, snapping out of his train of thought.

Sam shot him a confused look. "Uh, yeah. There's no one else around named Ross. There's no one else around period."

"Right." Dean smiled and trudged over, groaning as he had to bend over to get inside. It was kind of claustrophobic with all three of them in there, but that wasn't the worst part.

"I need to see those stitches." John said, digging through his bag for something.

Dean ignored him. _Why does Sam have stitches? Maybe this isn't the perfect little family after all._ It wouldn't surprise him. Plenty of people who started out as friendly in Dean's life turned around and screwed him soon afterwards. Some only took twenty minutes. Some took eleven years.

"Ross." John called when the boy didn't respond. "Hey, Ross." Still nothing. He seemed to be lost in though. "You okay, kiddo?"

Dean looked up, eyes wide and innocent. "Huh?"

 _Ross is definitely not his name._ "I need to check your stitches. See how they held up today."

"I- I have stitches?" Dean asked, surprised and unnerved by the new information. He hated needles. Hated stitches even more. The very thought had his skin crawling, his nerves ready to jump out of his skin.

"Lift up the left side of your hoodie." John ordered, moving closer.

It didn't seem like he had a choice. Dean lifted the fabric like a rabid raccoon would jump out at him. Instead, all he saw was the welcoming tan color an ACE bandage, wrapped all around his middle. _No wonder it's not as soft as the shirt there._

"I need to take those bandages off and replace them." John said slowly, watching as Ross' eyes clouded with fear and his breathing picked up a little. Several deep, wet coughs ripped through the boy's chest and he obviously coughed something up, cringing as he swallowed it. "It won't take long. You don't have to look. But I do, okay? It's important."

"I hate stitches." Dean said, his breath coming in panicked little gasps. "Please, I hate stitches."

"Dude, relax. He's not giving you any more. He's just gonna look at 'em and clean 'em up and cover all of 'em up again. So you don't get an infection." Sam said with a mischievous grin. "You can handle that, right? You're a hunter." He hoped that some friendly banter would help Ross calm down a little.

It did not.

For once, Dean didn't bother even considering trying to look tough. He shook his head and held down the hem of the hoodie, feeling the prick of tears in his eyes as his voice started to hitch. "I can't. I jus' can't. Nope. Not happening."

"They're just little pieces of plastic thread, kid. You don't even have to look. I promise I'll be gentle." John said, trying to address any fear the boy might have about what was going to happen. Because it _was_ going to happen. Even if John had to drug the kid to sleep. This was obviously going to be hard for the kid, judging by the way his face got bright red and his eyes started to get glossy. _Green eyes._ John noticed for the first time, a hint of a smile pulling at his face. He'd missed seeing green eyes.

Dean stared at him, feeling one big tear roll out and down his cheek. The man looked sincere. _He's been nice so far, right? He- he saved me from that… that wendigo. Kept me from bleeding out with-_ A thick roll of nausea bombarded Dean's stomach. _With stitches._

"I'll give you my M&Ms." Sam said, producing a little unopened packet bearing the logo for the brand. "They came with my MRE this morning."

Dean eyed the candy warily. It had been months since he had sweets, not that it was a big deal. Just the look on Sam's face… like he was hoping his offer would be taken. Like he'd rather have the injuries of a blubbering homeless kid addressed than get to enjoy his own candy. _Who does that?_

With a swipe of his good arm across his face, Dean took a deep breath and let it out slow, shaky as it was. _It won't be like Winthrop. He- John said he'd be gentle._ Dean tried to reason with himself. _But Jerold said that too. And he never was._ He shivered at the memories that threatened to surface. Memories of close calls with the wolves, grazes when he got in the way of another hunter's bullet, and those claws... _But- but I didn't even know I had these. He did 'em so well that I didn't feel them all day. That's already tons better than Winthrop and Jerold combined._

Dean took another deep breath and smiled at Sam. "You can keep your candy. I- I'll be fine." Dean said, lifting up the left side of his hoodie. "Jus' be quick. Please."

John could tell that Ross was still panicking, but he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass. "Take a seat on your sleeping bag."

"What?"

"Sit on this thing." John patted the sleeping bag furthest from the door and couldn't help but grin a little at the shocked look on the kid's face as he shuffled over and sat heavily on the padded roll.

"I get a sleeping bag?"

John had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he readied the rolls of gauze, tube of antibiotic cream, and non-sting wipes on the bag next to Ross. "Yes. I know you're sick, kid." John said. "Sam, can you help him hold his clothes up?" Sam moved in and helped Ross lift the clothes so that John had a clear shot at the area in question. Ross only flinched a little at Sam's touch. "How long have you been coughing?"

Dean had to hold back a humorless laugh. It had been the better part of seven months since he'd been able to take a deep breath without falling into a coughing fit. "Couple days."

"And you're coughing stuff up, I hear?" John asked as he unwound the ACE wrap to reveal blood tinged gauze underneath. _Not a good sign, but it's not too much blood._

"Just some green stuff." Dean shrugged with his good shoulder. "Not a big deal."

"Y'know, if it's green that means there's an infection somewhere." Sam said from beside him. "Why aren't you coughing it up all the time, then? You should get that stuff out so it doesn't stay in your lungs and turn into a bigger problem."

"Sam's right." John said as he tossed the bloody gauze towards the packs where the garbage bag was tucked away. One of the cuts had been bleeding a little in the middle, but it seemed to have stopped already. John kept talking as he opened a couple wipes and set to work removing most of the coagulated blood so that the gauze could stick better to Ross' skin. "You should really get that looked at. We'll take you back to your Mom and let her know-"

"I don't have a Mom." Dean interrupted. John didn't even hesitate in his work, sensing that his time allowance had shortened considerably.

"What happened?" Sam asked, frustratingly curious as always.

"Never had one."

John started wrapping the gauze around and around the feverish boy in tense silence, securing it with a little tape before putting the ACE bandage back in place and tugging the shirt and hoodie down. "Is there anyone we can take you to who will help you out? Friends? Extended family? Hunters?" John asked, trying to sound casual.

"Not really. I'll be fine on my own." Dean shrugged. Jerold was dead, Lucy told him to never come back, and all his high school friends- all two of them- were at colleges already. And there was no doubt in Dean's pounding head that none of Jerold's hunting buddies would take him in. He'd already asked. That was no problem, though; Dean had been fine for the last ten months on his own. Why would that change now?

"No one at all?" Sam asked, skeptical. "C'mon, everybody's got somebody."

"I must be nobody then, because I have no one." Dean deadpanned the kid and watched as he frowned.

"Medicine time." John broke in. He figured there was still plenty of time to figure out who this guy really was and get him to someone who would take him under their wing for a couple weeks while he healed. Normally John would just chuck him in the hospital and walk away, but this kid was a hunter. He'd be lucky if the hospital held him for two days and the father knew that he would need much longer than that to recover at least to the point where he could live on his own again.

And… there was some part of John that just couldn't let this kid walk away to die of pneumonia that was obviously much more advanced than a 'couple days'. He didn't know why he felt like that. It was annoying, like a mosquito buzzing around his head that would dive bomb him just when he forgot it was there. John would glance over at Ross, just to make sure he was still walking, and get a feeling that he _needed_ to protect this kid, but he had no idea why. In his time as a hunter, he'd come across plenty of kids and every time he'd just turn them over to the authorities or plop them in a hospital and leave. Maybe he was going soft. Maybe it was the way Sam looked at the guy; the guy he thought he almost got killed. Maybe it was the desperately grateful look in the kid's eye every time they offered him a meal or a bed to sleep in. And maybe… maybe it was because he looked like he was about the same age as Dean would have been about now.

 _Dean…_ John sighed as he punched four tablets out of their foil and held them out to Ross. _Not the time._ He had to concentrate on keeping his hand from shaking. _Not now. Focus on Ross. I'll have to call Bobby tonight and see if he can get his description out and see if any other hunters knew him. Call the Roadhouse too…_ John grimaced. _Ellen won't be happy about the radio silence. Might hang up on me. But the more hunters I can get this kid's info out to, the easier it'll be to get him home. She'll understand, if he's a hunter's kid. She's a parent too._

Dean shook his head at the offered pills, but regretted it when flashes of light and electricity bolted through his world at the movement. "I can't keep taking up all your supplies. I- I have no way to repay you. It's not fair to you."

"And it's not fair to you to have to suffer through all this when we didn't kill the SOB before it got to you." John said seriously, finally snapping away from his preparations and the edge of memories he didn't have time to process at that moment. He knew he had to quash this 'I don't deserve it, I'm fine' bug before it grew into 'I'm going to bolt and end up dead somewhere' if he was ever going to actually help the kid out. "Just take the damn pills and eat the damn food and sleep in the frickin' sleeping bag."

Dean cringed. He hadn't meant to make the man angry, but usually when he pissed people off they took things away from him and hurt him, not the other way around. John's hand was still extended with those four wonderful pills resting in his palm. The old man hadn't seen the reasoning behind his argument, obviously. If Dean kept this up, they'd be out of supplies in no time. Still, he did want to at least stay in the tent that night. "I'm sorry."

John rolled his eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for." John took Ross' hand and put the pills into his palm. Then he leaned over and dug three MREs out of his pack. "Now… Chicken, pork, or tuna?"

* * *

Dean slept well that night. Two full, eight hour sessions of protected, mostly comfortable, _warm_ sleep was something Dean had only dreamed about as of late. There would be no one tapping on his window telling him to move his car or it would be towed, no one to kick him and jar him awake with a swift kick, no one to try and take him away to the police station or somewhere even worse. Just soft snores from some kid next to him, bugs making all sorts of noise outside, and one huge hunter standing watch over it all. Over _him_.

It had been a long time since Dean felt this safe. Well, felt safe at all, really.

It was kinda really nice.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. This sentence is a shameless plug for my other fic Family Practice. Let me know what you thought of More Than Words!**


	6. Sweet Child O' Mine

**A/N: Vivi here! Guess I'm moving JB posting day to Mondays. Anyway, this chapter has some swearing. I hope you like it, because this chapter kind of sets up the rest of the fic. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Dean slept well that night. Two full, eight hour sessions of protected, mostly comfortable, warm sleep was something Dean had only dreamed about as of late. There would be no one tapping on his window telling him to move his car or it would be towed, no one to kick him and jar him awake with a swift kick, no one to try and take him away to the police station or somewhere even worse. Just soft snores from some kid next to him, bugs making all sorts of noise outside, and one huge hunter standing watch over it all. Over him._

 _It had been a long time since Dean felt this safe. Well, felt safe at all, really._

 _It was kinda really nice._

* * *

The next morning, Dean was sore. More sore than he'd been in his whole life, and that was saying something. Breathing hurt. Blinking hurt. The weight of the sleeping bag on his side hurt. His hip throbbed from the position he slept in and his head was trying to outdo it all. Luckily, his back didn't hurt. That is, until he rolled over on it. He cried out, cinching his eyes closed as he struggled to right himself and stop the onslaught of fire.

Big hands gripped his bad shoulder, close enough to his neck so the joint wouldn't be damaged even more, and his hip before rolling him easily and quickly onto his stomach. The vicious burn waned considerably but left Dean panting and holding back annoying, blurry tears.

"Y'okay, kiddo?" The big guy asked quietly. It was still dim in the tent, but light was beginning to pour over the trees above them.

"'m fine." Dean grunted into a fold of the sleeping bag, willing the tears to go back to wherever they came from. _You're a grown ass adult, Dean. Suck it up. Babies cry, not hunters._

"Got some more meds for ya."

Dean listened with overwhelming relief as four little popping sounds filled the tent, followed by a bottle of water being uncapped. "Thank you." He said softly, trying not to wake the kid who he just realized was still asleep. _How did he not wake up? He's like a log. Must never have had a night all by himself somewhere dangerous. This guy's a pretty good dad after all, I guess._

"Don't mention it, buddy." John said, handing the pills over and letting Ross put them in his mouth before handing him the water bottle. It looked tricky, drinking while lying flat on his stomach, but the kid managed pretty well.

 _Pretty good dad to his own kid, though. Not me._ "You didn't have to help me. No one would have known. No one would have blamed you." Dean said somberly. He knew no one would have noticed his absence. Maybe the clerk from the store he usually hung out by, but that guy would be glad to have him gone.

"We'd have known." John said, rubbing his eye. Thick, dark circles had developed after two days with barely a few hours' sleep and many hours of rough hiking. John felt like crap, but he'd rather feel like that than have Sam get sick. Because when Sam didn't sleep, his episodes flared up. And when he didn't take his meds, they came on in droves. _Speaking of which…_ John reached over to Sam's pack and opened the little side pocket. He pulled out Sam's prescription bottle and looked up from the bottom to count the tablets he had left. Trying to be a mindful father was difficult with a kid like Sam, but John managed to keep track of how many pills _should_ be gone.

There was a discrepancy in the number of pills remaining and the number that should be gone. Sam hadn't taken his medicine the night before.

"Dammit, Sam." John sighed and rubbed his temples, listening to the little white tabs move around next to his ear. _This is why I remind you. This is why I_ have _to remind you._ John then recounted in his head and decided that the next time they went into town, he'd have to drop off Sam's prescription to get it refilled. Just one more thing to add to his steadily growing To-Do list.

Dean noticed the man's strange behavior and looked up from his guilty introspective session. He didn't want to ask what was wrong; no way was he going to piss this guy off again. But then he saw the little orange bottle. "Somethin' wrong?" Dean's voice was quiet, not wanting to wake the kid, but also not wanting to seem demanding. His curiosity was alight, though. And he would gladly take any excuse to not think about the pain or how royally he had screwed up his hunt.

John looked down at the man, who seemed mildly concerned, pain still painting his eyes and leaving him wincing now and then. "We're gonna get back to town today. It's just going to take us all day to do it."

"Why's that?" Dean asked, suddenly very self-conscious. "Y'know, if you just give me a direction to walk in, you guys can go on ahead and I'll just catch a ride when I hit the road."

John rolled his eyes. "You won't be the only one who'll need to go slow." His knees popped as he stood. "What'd you want for breakfast? Chicken or pork?" They had plenty of MREs left; the Winchesters had planned to stay a week in search of the wendigo, but had only been out for two days when it was burned.

"I'm not hung-" Dean stopped short when the man sent a frustrated glance his way. "Chicken." That seemed to appease John. Plopping the pill bottle down next to Sam's head, he got out of the tent and left it unzipped enough that Dean could watch what he was doing. Or rather, John could watch what Dean was doing.

Fifteen minutes later, the drugs had kicked in and Dean felt he could move again. Slowly and very carefully, he got up, stepped over Sam, and went to sit on the ground next to John.

"Feeling better?" John asked, poking at the little fire he'd made to heat water for coffee.

"Yeah." Dean replied. "I should be able to keep up better today."

"We're gonna go slow anyway." John said, not looking away from the fire.

Dean's face betrayed his confusion. "You don't have to slow down for me. I can follow a trail; you don't even have to make it obvious. I don't mind. Really. Footfalls are enough."

"Ross, I have no intention of leaving you out here alone or forcing you to keep up. But we'll be taking our time for Sam today. It's not you." John said.

"What… what's wrong with Sam?" Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder at the still form curled up in a sleeping bag.

"Nothing you need to be concerned about." John said blankly. He didn't want to tell this guy the whole inner workings of the Winchester household. And he _really_ didn't want to have to explain how all this happened in the first place. "Breakfast is ready."

"Shouldn't we wake him up?" Dean asked, unsure.

"He needs all the sleep he can get." John said, finally deciding that the water was hot enough for coffee.

"O-okay." Dean said. He gratefully accepted the little tin cup of coffee that was handed to him, relishing in the heat it provided through the chilly morning air.

Sam woke up a few minutes later anyway. They heard the pill bottle shift, followed by a soft 'oh shit'. The bottle opened, pills moved, the bottle closed, and returned to its pocket in Sam's bag. When Sam came out to join them, he hung his head. "Morning Dad. Morning Ross." His voice betrayed the shame that was hidden by his mop of hair.

"How do you feel, Sam?" John asked, tossing a packet of already warm food into his lap as he sat.

"Fine." Sam murmured, tearing open the package to eat with the other two.

"Nothing yet?"

"No. Not that I noticed, anyway."

"Good."

Dean really wanted to know what they were talking about. _Is it some curse he has? A hex, maybe? Or he was bit by a werewolf and they found something to keep him from wolfing out._ But then he paused. _He could be sick, like me. Just regular old human sickness. Doesn't look sick though. Looks fine, like a normal teenage kid._ Dean decided he should just focus on eating and stop eyeing up the kid while his father was around.

* * *

It wasn't until about an hour into their hike towards the road that Dean first noticed something strange happening. John walked much closer to Sam today, always staying either right beside him or just behind him. Dean followed a few steps back, watching the two as they navigated the downed trees and thorn patches, rivers and rocks. Occasionally, John or Sam would glance back and look him up and down before continuing on. The clip they had going was good; just slow enough for Dean to keep up but not so fast that he was struggling to do so.

Then it happened.

Sam suddenly stopped walking and John almost instantly had his hand around the kid's arm, steadying him as he listed to the left on the uneven ground. Father held son like that for just a few seconds before Sam flinched and got his balance, looking over at John and sighing in disappointment. John let his son go and the trio continued on like nothing had happened.

Dean was bewildered.

I was another hour and a half before it happened again. John reacted the same way. Sam seemed to be more upset with this one.

No one talked about it. No one talked at all, really.

They paused for lunch and pain meds in a small clearing about two hours later. This time Dean could see Sam's face when it happened.

Packets of food in hand, the three were silently eating as they sat on the ground, kind of facing each other, kind of watching the trees where the others couldn't see. Occasionally, Dean would look at John or Sam discreetly, trying to decide when would be a good time to ask about Sam again. It was eating him up that he couldn't figure out what was wrong with the kid. John was always either focused on eating or glancing quickly at Sam, like he didn't want the kid to notice he was doing it. Until Dean looked up and the grizzled old hunter wasn't just glancing.

John was staring at his son, eyes hard and calculating. Dean followed his gaze and was met with a strange sight. Sam was sitting there, just like before, but he had stopped chewing and his eyes were glazed over and blinking a lot more than they should. If Dean had just glanced at him, he would have thought Sam was just lost in thought, but the longer he watched the more convinced he was that _this_ was what was wrong with John's son. Problem was, Dean didn't know what the heck this was.

It only lasted about six seconds. And then Sam snapped back to life, coughing and pounding his chest like he was choking. John leaned over and thumped his back a few times, which seemed to help. Sam decided he wasn't hungry anymore, even though he had barely touched his meal. Neither of them looked directly at Dean, not even when they started walking again.

By the time they reached the actual trail, Sam had gone through three more episodes, nearly falling the time they had been working their way over a series of trees downed in what must have been a hell of a storm. John caught him before he hit the ground. However, Dean wasn't as curious about Sam anymore; not when his battered shoulder was on fire and his head throbbed with every beat of his heart.

"Shouldn't be long now." John said, breaking the nearly eight hour silence. _Gotta get that kid's real name. Bobby and Ellen are getting his description out but without a name, word's not gonna spread. Don't have much time left._ "How ya doin', Ross?"

"Fi-" Dean couldn't hold back the coughing fit that came with his own broken silence.

"That's what I thought." John said, glancing at Sam as they hiked down the trail. "So where will you go once we get to the trailhead?"

Dean spat a particularly big wad of green stuff into the underbrush before answering. "My car. It's parked on the road a little ways down from the trailhead. I can walk there."

"I meant where in town. Where do you live?" John asked.

"I got a place. It's nothing special, but it works." Dean said. The old man didn't need to know that the place he was referring to was in fact his car. Then again, there was also that alley with the really deep doorways that kept most of the rain off of him, but the other homeless men and women tended to lay claim to those before Dean got there.

"Anyone to help you change those bandages?" John could hear the hopelessness in the kid's tone; he definitely did not have a safe place to stay. And John was pretty sure he knew what the answer to this question would be, but he felt he should ask anyway.

Dean rolled his eyes. _What is this? Twenty questions?_ "I think I can manage."

Sam scoffed. He had taken point and now looked back to send Ross a skeptical smirk. "You couldn't even _look_ at your stitches yesterday, dude. You're nuts if you think you can change those bandages on your own every single day for the next few weeks."

Dean's face flushed. Truth be told he didn't have the cash to buy the supplies he would need to keep his wounds healing well, regardless as to whether or not he could stomach cleaning them and removing the stitches when the time came. And in the shape he was, there was no way he'd be able to make enough money without risking further serious injury. Dean thought himself above begging, but if it came down to it… "I'm an adult. I can get past all that if I have to." _Wouldn't be so bad. I look the part, right? People will feel sorry for me. But then they'll call the cops and I'll end up getting held in jail for a few days again. Totally not worth the effort… Wonder what will get me first. Pneumonia? Infected wounds? Bar fight? Getting mugged? Exposure? I can't even guess._

The feeling in the pit of John's stomach let him know that he couldn't let the kid go on his own. No way was he going to keep up with those cuts. And that pneumonia looked a couple of weeks away from killing him. Not to mention that John hadn't heard from anyone who knew the boy. What if he let Ross go and then got a call, some desperate hunter looking for their son who ran away or was taken? And then if he couldn't find the kid again? John would feel horrible for getting someone's hopes up only to dash them to the rocks when their son was once again out of their reach.

He knew he would be devastated if that ever happened to him. Then again, at least he might find out if his little trooper was still alive, once and for all.

John took a long glance at Ross, who was watching his footing very carefully even on the relatively well kept trail. Kid was in bad shape. _He could stay with us for a while. Just until he's healthy again._ "Ross, I want you to come back to town with us."

"I gotta get my car though." Dean protested, knowing that he'd only purchased enough gas to get it here and back to its hiding place a few miles outside town. He hadn't planned on being as beat up as he was for the long walk back to the concrete jungle. Still, he didn't want to mooch off of the Winchesters any more than he absolutely had to.

John didn't reply. If he let the kid out of his sight, he was sure to bolt. _Please let the car be in as bad a shape as him. If it doesn't start, he'll have to ride with us while it gets towed._

* * *

The car was, in fact, in worse shape than Ross when John finally laid eyes on it. Sam grimaced; even in the quickly falling darkness, both Winchesters could tell that their new acquaintance had been living in it. It was an old, dented, rusted Pinto with newspaper stuck to the back windows for some privacy. The windshield was cracked and one of the tires seemed to be going flat. The hood and bumper were punched in a few inches, like someone ran into another car or a pole at some time. John doubted it would even start.

"You really don't have to escort me to my car." Dean griped, feeling very uncomfortable with the two men following behind him along the road towards his parked vehicle. John had returned his shot gun, which was clenched tight in Dean's good hand. They'd skipped dinner, but not pain meds, in hopes of getting out before dark. The going was slow, but they'd finally made it. Dean was glad it was getting dark. He didn't want them to see the sorry excuse for a car that he'd sacrificed so much to get.

"Just wanted to finish the job." John said, turning the junker's key over and over in his pocket, the tiny lanyard whirling with it. He toyed with the idea of claiming the key had been lost in the forest during the attack, but he didn't want to outright lie to the kid. He didn't deserve that.

Dean set the gun on the roof of the car and patted down his pockets, looking for his car key. He found the lump of silver. The three buckshot rounds were still there. But no key.

Dean felt his throat clench up and his lungs start to burn as panicked gasps drove him into a dizzy spell. "Do you have my key?" He asked, turning to John. _Please please please have them. I don't care if you took them out of my pocket, as long as you have them. You can keep the car and the key if I can have them back._

"I might." John said slowly, taking in the scene before him. Here was a 'grown man' borderline hyperventilating and clinging to his lemon car with a wild look of panic in his eyes. _All that over a key?_

Dean almost screamed. _I might?!_ "Can I have it, please?" It was all he could do to say the words quietly and without anger.

Again, John heisitated. _He could be gone for good. Read about him in the newspapers later this week: another homeless man dies of pneumonia. They'll say they need more shelters in the city and then do nothing._ The little beads hit his fingernail with an audible click as he thought.

"I know you have it. Please just give it back." Dean asked, desperation starting to leak into his voice. He had _heard_ his beads in that man's pocket. "You can keep the key. Keep the car. Hell, keep everything in it. Just give me the beads."

Sam's face contorted in confusion as he glanced between Ross and Dad. "Why aren't you giving him the key? He's gonna freak." Sam said quietly, watching as Ross seemed to tense up, getting ready for a fight.

John ignored his son, instead trying to figure out why this man would give his car away for a few old beads. "What beads?"

Dean almost fell over at the question. _What beads._ "The fucking beads attached to my key. Give them to me."

"Why?"

As Ross left his car and approached the two Winchesters, John stepped in front of Sam. Sam, of course, huffed in protest, but remained hidden nonetheless. He knew from past experience when to let Dad take over. He hated it, but he knew.

"Because if you don't, I'll kill you." Ross growled, stopping a few feet from the man. Well out of arm's reach, because he knew he couldn't take the guy in a fight, but close enough to make him want to protect his kid.

John's eyes narrowed. It wasn't often that he was threatened. This might have been the first time he was threatened by a _kid_ as beat up as Ross was. Excluding Sam, of course. "What's so important about the beads, Ross?"

"I need 'em." Dean ground his teeth together, trying not to work himself into tears. "Please."

"Tell me why." John insisted, keeping the key hidden in his pocket.

"They're mine."

"They're mine now. What's so important about them that you'd kill, or give away your car to get them back?" John asked angrily. Night was falling and he knew Sam would be hungry. Sam had to eat when he took his medicine, and he _had_ to take his medicine on time tonight to get the schedule back on track and keep him sharp.

"My Dad gave 'em to me, okay?" Dean cried, his lip starting to tremble. "My real Dad."

"Real dad, of the parents who abandoned you." John stated, not seeing the connection between abandonment and this prized possession.

"He didn't abandon me!" Dean shouted, feeling the first fat tear roll down his cheek. He dashed it away with the sleeve of the hoodie he just realized he'd have to return before he left. But only after he got his beads back. "I was taken. But he stopped looking. I know he did."

The bottom dropped out of John's stomach. He pulled the key from his pocket and took another look at the beads. Old, beat up, slightly stained red, but still mostly white, with chunky black uppercase letters. Like the ones he used to make his sons wear, with number beads on the same necklace that made out his phone number so they could call if they got lost or someone found them. Like the ones his oldest son had been wearing when he was kidnapped.

These beads spelled out NAED. _Wait… DEAN_.

 _Dean._

John's eyes grew wide. He looked back to Ross just in time to watch in slow motion as the brokenness of the kid's green eyes burned into the his weary memory. There was too much in them to take in all at once, but there was no way John would ever forget a bit of it. Of the fear of _him_. Of the desperation for any hint of kindness. Fear of the whole world. The invisible scars of betrayal and abuse.

The kid tore the key out of his hand in one swift move and ran to his car in a blur.

It started.

The gun fell from the roof and landed on the ground with a dissatisfied thud as he sped away down the forest road. It wasn't until Sam tugged at his elbow that John snapped out of his stupor.

Sam probably had his matching beads still tucked away in his duffel. Kid was sentimental like that.

Apparently both of them were.

"What was that abou-" Sam started, only to be cut off by an unwarranted bear hug. Dad never did that. And when he did, he _never_ held Sam's head like that. Like he was holding a baby. "Dad?"

John held his baby close, trying not to cry, or jump for joy, or scare him too much. Finally, he released the boy and held him at arm's length. "We have to find that kid. Tonight." John turned his youngest around and nudged him toward the car as he grabbed the gun and ran to get in the driver's seat. Maybe they could catch up to him on the road…

Sam was confused, as John expected. "He's already gone, Dad. If he really wants his gun, he'll come back for it. We can just leave it here for him to find later."

"It's not about the gun, Sam. Buckle up."

* * *

 **A/N: And so begins the hunt for Dean. I wonder if he'll last long enough for John and Sam to find him... See you next week!**


	7. Born to Run

**A/N: Vivi here! Hope you're enjoying the story so far. It's gonna be a long one, I think. Definitely not as long as IM or FP (my other fics) but at least 20 chapters, probably. I have a rough idea for the end of the plot, but it's still forming. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"We have to find that kid. Tonight." John turned his youngest around and nudged him toward the car as he grabbed the gun and ran to get in the driver's seat. Maybe they could catch up to him on the road…_

 _Sam was confused, as John expected. "He's already gone, Dad. If he really wants his gun, he'll come back for it. We can just leave it here for him to find later."_

 _"It's not about the gun, Sam. Buckle up."_

* * *

An hour later, they'd been up and down most of the nearby roads and the one back to the city. Sam finally stopped asking what they were doing and just accepted that he wouldn't get a solid answer and that dinner would be late. John was convinced that Ross' car would break down along the highway, but it was nowhere to be found.

Until Sam saw tread marks going off the pavement. "Dad, look."

John slammed on the breaks- thank goodness for seatbelts, the last thing Sammy needed was another head injury- and jumped from the car as soon as it was in park. The tracks didn't look like they'd been made with any sort of speed, but still, it could have crashed. There were plenty of streams and ravines nearby. Hopefully 'Ross' wasn't at the bottom of one.

The marks in the dirt led them across a small meadow that had obviously been driven through. In the trees at the far side, well out of sight of the road, was the old Pinto, covered in downed branches with leaf litter thrown on top.

John brushed off one of the windows and peered inside after a brisk knock elicited no response. The car was as empty as it had been when they watched Ross leave in it. Except for the makeshift sling on the passenger seat.

"Dammit." John growled, slamming his hand down on the hood of the car and startling Sam.

"Seriously, Dad. What did he do that makes you want to find him so bad? Is it really that important?" Sam asked, growing more and more irritated as his stomach pleaded for food.

John almost turned around and told him they had to find his brother but… then he looked to his lanky teenage son and paused. What if they never found the kid who renamed himself Ross? A father couldn't just tell his son, who thought he was an only child, that he'd just met his long lost big brother and then watch the devastation on the kid's face when they couldn't find him, or worse, found him dead in an alley somewhere. "He didn't do anything. And yes, it is that important." _I'll tell him when he needs to know. Right now, he doesn't need to know._

"If he didn't do anything then why are we looking for him?" Sam asked as they got back in the car.

"I need to talk to him." John said, getting back on the road and heading for the city. _He must have hidden his car and hitchhiked the rest of the way. Didn't see him walking on the road._

"About what?" Sam asked, looking out his window, keeping watch for any sign of Ross that he could find.

"His family."

* * *

The remainder of the search proved fruitless, ending with Chinese takeout and two very pissy Winchesters. "Be quick in there, Sam." John yelled through the bathroom door at the motel when he heard the shower come on. "You're past due for your etho." _Can't keep doing this. He needs to take it at nine, not midnight._

"Got it." Sam replied, his classic answer whenever he wanted his father to shut up and go away.

John sighed and scrubbed at his face as he sat on the bed closest to the door.

He may well have just met his oldest son, the one he thought he'd lost forever. And then lost him again. _Dean._

Those same eyes haunted John at least once a week in nightmares that were too vivid. Too lifelike. Almost too much to handle sometimes.

Two little green eyes peering out at him from a baby blue blanket in the delivery room. Two bright green eyes smiling and laughing as he took his first steps into Mary's waiting arms, only to stumble to Daddy right after. Two curious green eyes begging to see the hazel ones lying in the crib just one more time before bedtime. Two dark green eyes that reflected the blaze that ended their normality forever. Two guarded green eyes that held a shotgun that would surely knock him over should he fire it. Two dull green eyes agreeing to watch out for Sammy while Daddy went away to work late one evening, called out unexpectedly by his current hunting partner with no time to find a babysitter for the night. Two black and white eyes boring holes into John's soul from the missing children section of the newspaper.

And now… Two terrified green eyes, so much older, longing for a safe place and someone to care whether they lived or died. Two desperate green eyes longing for a family they thought had long abandoned the search for them.

Two hazy green eyes burning with fever and closer to death than John cared to think about.

Tears were already flowing by the time he saw 'Ross' in his head, those green eyes alight with near hysterical fear as he stole back the only remnant he had of his family. His _real_ family. John's family.

It had to be him.

The buzzing in his pocket went unnoticed until the fifth ring. John sniffed his nose and cleared his throat before answering. "What?"

"John?" The gruff voice on the other end said.

"Hey, Bobby. Got anything yet?" John asked, trying hard to keep his tone even.

"Yeah. Hunter named Al says that description fits the son of a friend a' his. Even went huntin' with the pair once in a while. Ever heard of Jerry Ross?" Bobby asked.

John finally knew where the name 'Ross' had come from. Still, the name sounded familiar. "Yeah… Yeah, that old drunk who killed a civilian he thought was a werewolf?"

"The very same. Jerry died about a year ago during a hunt. Turns out he was married to a woman named Lucy. They wanted kids and couldn't have 'em. Couple years ago, a hunter found a kid in a nest of vamps who didn't know his last name and had no ID. As you are _undoubtedly_ aware, those blood suckers remember the scent of their prey for life. Well, a couple fangs got away in the ambush, so the guy decided not to turn the kid over to police. Didn't want a whole family to go down because the bloodsuckers scented the kid. He brought the boy to the Ross', thinkin' they'd take 'im and raise him in the life, away from any vengeful vamps. Well, they did. 'Cept Jerry was a mean SOB who started the kid on hunts before he even enrolled him in school. And neighbors called the cops on Lucy a couple times cuz they heard her cursin' and hollerin' and a kid yellin'. Police never did find grounds to arrest her, but that kid was always shakin'. At least, that's what Al told me. And every police report I found about 'im says he was scared shitless but would never tell the cops why. Hardly spoke two words in his whole life to anyone wearing a police badge. Even when they held him overnight for questioning. Kid was like… twelve, I think. They had a CPS rep and everything, but the boy ignored all of 'em. Jerry was none too happy when he picked the kid up the next morning. The officer doin' the report felt he should include that bit for some reason. Must've made an impression."

"How do you know all this?" John asked, overwhelmed by the flood of information and the menagerie of reactions pounding at his brain, waiting to be let out.

"Called a couple more guys who worked with Ross. Looked over his file at the station, and his credit card transactions over the past thirteen years. The purchase at a kid's shoe store gave me a start date, confirmed what the others told me."

"Damn." There weren't any other words for all the things that were rushing through John's mind at that particular moment.

"One guy he hunted with said the kid was somethin' fierce. Charged right into the fray, got the job done, but _always_ got hurt. Every hunt. Scratches right down to broken bones, apparently. And Jerry would cuss him out in front of everyone, call 'im a clutz and a few other choice words. The kid just took it, I guess. When Jerry died, his neighbors heard a lot of fighting next door and some things breakin'. They saw a teenage boy leave the house and run down the road. Of course they called the cops, thinkin' it was robbery. Apparently the kid contacted a couple of Jerry's old huntin' buddies, asking for help, but no one stepped up. He tried for two months to find some help. Kid kinda fell off the map about… eight months ago." Bobby sighed heavily, as if he wanted nothing more than to end the conversation there. The pause that followed was weighted with so much more than silence. "John, I know what you're thinkin'."

"Is that so?" John snapped. How could everyone in his son's life just _abandon_ him like that? How could they scare him, throw things at him, yell at him, _leave him all alone_?

"This ain't Dean, John. Kid was too old to be him when he was found." Bobby said softly.

"Then how old is he? Because he's the spitting image of the boy I left in that room twelve years ago." John couldn't stop seeing the fear in his little trooper's eyes as the tot stood in the middle of the grungy motel room with a gun as tall as he was in his hands, nodding when John told him to protect the baby playing with a toy clown in a playpen beyond both beds. Had John even imagined what could have happened that night, he would have taken his boys and never gone near Plainfield again.

It was too late for that now.

"He's eighteen but they found 'im when he was eight, John. Dean went missing when he was five and would only be seventeen now. You know that. Vamps ain't known for keeping humans alive longer than a month. Maybe two at the most if they're using 'em as a lure." There was silence on the line and John heard the shower shut off. "Dean is dead, John. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. You need to move on. You can't keep-"

"Thanks for the update." John said numbly, hanging up and throwing the phone full force into the pillows at the head of the bed. _It's him. I know it is. That kid is my son and I'm going to find him._

"Dad?" Sam asked, his voice uncharacteristically timid and unsure.

Embarrassment swept through John; he ran his arm across his eyes before looking at the kid, trying to hide the evidence.

Sam's hair was still soaking wet, dripping all over the carpet, and he wore only a towel around his waist, held tightly in one hand. What instantly concerned John, however, was the fact that he had his other hand pressing against both his eyes and his face was twisted in pain. "Sammy, what happened?" John asked, going to his boy and attempting to remove his hand from his eyes.

"I had a seizure in the shower." Sam whimpered as John finally got his hand away. Those normally bright, hazel eyes were red and inflamed, looking all kinds of painful when they could open even for a split second at a time. "Got soap in my eyes."

"Did you rinse them out yet?" John asked quickly, already knowing that he would say no.

"Kinda. The water was hot and I couldn't see which knob was which." Sam said, squeezing his eyes shut again.

John didn't get to shower that night. Instead, he sat with Sam in the bathroom as they let the tub's faucet drizzle lukewarm water over those burning eyes. John had to watch, just to make sure Sam didn't have another seizure and inhale water or drown himself. Eventually the eyes stopped burning and John put a few medicated eye drops in each eye to help them heal; the drops had become a staple in the Winchester med kit after this same incident happened the first time, some seven years ago. Sam was finally able to eat and take his meds around 12:30, before conking out for the night. John, not wanting to wake him and cause the kid any more grief, settled for just washing his face and shedding a few layers before falling into his own bed.

After he salted the door and windows, of course.

* * *

"Thanks for the ride, man." Dean said, jumping awkwardly and somewhat painfully out of the bed of some old guy's pickup truck. _So glad those meds are still in my system._ Without his sling, though, his shoulder was beginning to burn more than usual. He'd left it behind, knowing that if anyone saw him wearing it, they'd think him an easy target. And that was the last thing Dean needed tonight.

The outskirts of the city were nice. Big suburban houses with grassy lawns and neatly maintained landscaping. Every so often, Dean would wander out here and sleep between the houses and their shrubbery, where no one could find him unless they were actively looking. He only came out here, though, when he really needed rest. There was no way to make money out in the 'burbs. Nowhere to lift food or dive for mostly edible scraps. And the cameras. There were personal security cameras everywhere, with motion activated lights. When he got caught, Dean would usually just say he was looking for his dog who'd run off in the night. That worked most of the time; when it didn't, there was always the 'run fast' option.

Tonight, Dean chose a little brick house, hoping that it had absorbed some of the sun's heat that day. It must've, because when Dean wedged himself between the scratchy brick and the pokey twigs of the shrub by the porch, the house wasn't freezing cold. It wasn't particularly warm, but it was better than nothing.

A small shiver ached its way through Dean's body and he curled tighter around himself. _Would love to have a sleeping bag right about now._

Once Dean had his beads, nothing crossed his mind except _run for your life_. Even looking back in the rear view mirror of his car and seeing the shock on John's face as he _didn't_ give chase hadn't eased Dean's panic. He hid his car as soon as he found a good place, leaving the key on the front wheel and tucking his beads safely away in a hole in the passenger side seat. It was better that he not carry those things; chances were that he'd lose whatever he carried if someone else wanted it. Dean was in no condition to defend himself well and he knew it. So he waited in the ditch until he saw headlights that didn't belong to that awesome classic car he'd passed at the trailhead. He could fake health and hitch a ride to the city as long as no one looked too close. And they rarely looked close.

The ride there was freezing cold, but at least he made it alive. That old man was nice enough, but he wouldn't let Dean into his nice warm cab. Dean understood. He knew he didn't look trustworthy.

But now that he was here, huddled pathetically against someone else's house, Dean began to wonder. _'I have no intention of leaving you out here alone'. What kind of hunter risks his life and his kid to help a stranger with nothing to offer in return? He must've had a reason. Wanted a lacky to do all his dirty work, steal for him. Or make some extra income for him. No way I'm ever doing that again. Could've just been trying to set a good example for Sam, I suppose. Kid looked like he was still young enough to be impressionable. Smart little dude though. Maybe there's a bounty on my head and he wanted to cash in. Somebody figured out that Jerold would've lived if I'd been there to help him and they want revenge. Could be Lucy, she'd do something like that if she had the money. But she probably doesn't. Probably even lost the house by now._

The next shiver sent a big throb through his stitches. _But they took care of me. The… the Winchesters. Better than Jerold and Lucy ever did. They gave me medicine so I didn't have to feel the pain all the time, and food too. John let me use his sleeping bag two nights in a row. Sam offered me his food a couple times, kept me from falling over myself every other step. Really seemed like they cared about me._ Dean bit his lip to keep it from shaking. _Too bad they don't. No one does. Not even Dad, if he's even still alive. There's no way he'd want me back after I… I…_ Dean shook his head, using the dizziness and stars to his advantage. It kept his mind off of… that day.

* * *

Early the next morning, John was sitting in his car, still holding his phone. He'd already spoken to a police officer; they hadn't arrested anyone with Ross' description that night. He talked with the local hospital and all the local clinics. No one who looked like Ross or had his injuries had shown up there either. John even called the local morgue. No John Does matching Ross were there and no one had been brought in that night. That meant that Ross was still out there ruining his shoulder, letting his side get infected, aggravating his concussion, and growing all sorts of nasty crap in his lungs. With no pain medication.

 _I'm coming, Dean. Just sit tight._

"Up and at 'em, squirt." John said as he returned to the room, his sense of urgency renewed. Sam had slept a full eight hours, which was usually the minimum he needed to function well throughout the day. Hopefully it was enough; John had a feeling they'd be out late again.

"Mmm." Sam groaned, tugging the blanket closer around himself.

John tugged the kid's foot on the way to the bathroom, causing more unhappy noises to come from the bed. Sleepy Sammy always put a smirk on John's face. The kid was just like his old man used to be, way back when.

Sam was dressed and more than ready for breakfast by the time John finished his shower. The pair set out, both already aware of their task for the day: find Ross. Sam still didn't know why, but he wasn't going to pester his father until after breakfast because coffee needed to happen before John was awake enough to not shoot him down at the first inquiry.

So as soon as they left the diner and medications had been taken, Sam laid into him. "Why do we need to find Ross so badly? He obviously doesn't want to be found and you said he didn't do anything wrong. I don't get why we're looking for him in the first place when we should be moving out. You used the burner card here, Dad; the cops are gonna catch up to us if we stay much longer."

"I understand that. Problem is, the man is sick, Sam. You heard him coughing. You saw his side." John said as they drove slowly through the city, doing a preliminary sweep before starting their search on foot. He was glad for the bright sun that day, allowing him to see further down streets and into alleys than he had been able to yesterday. What he was not glad for, however, was the forecast for heavy rain and possible sleet that evening and all night long. John had a sinking feeling that if they didn't find Ross today, they never would.

"Dad, he's a grown man. If he needs help, he'll get help."

"Not Ross. He can't. Sam, he's homeless, in case you didn't notice." John glanced over at his youngest, who wore a skeptical expression.

"How do you know? We only just met the guy."

John had to consciously stop himself from palming his face. "You saw his clothes before we stitched him up, right?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me about 'em."

Sam frowned, trying to remember. "He had a gray hoodie, jeans, and sneakers."

"More detail, Sam."

Sam groaned; this was not the direction he wanted to take this conversation. "The hoodie was kinda threadbare and old and scratchy, his jeans were torn in a couple places, and the sneakers were muddy with the rubber separating from the fabric. The sole kinda flopped around when he walked."

"Now tell me about how _he_ looked when we found him. And not the injuries the wendigo made."

Sam looked out the window and racked his brain for the image Dad was asking for. It was pretty obvious by now that Ross was homeless; Sam hadn't put the pieces together until just then. He'd assumed all the unpleasant bits of Ross' appearance were just due to his most recent hunt. "Uh… His hair was kinda long and greasy. He looked really tired. Skinny. And he smelled."

"Remember how he almost fought us over that silver bullet?"

"Yeah."

"And how fast he ate that first day?"

"I guess."

"How he said he had no way to repay us?"

"I get it."

"I'm not even going to mention the car."

"You just did. Dad, I get it. So Ross might be homeless. Why does that matter?" Sam asked, fully aware of how easily John had twisted the conversation to his favor. Still, Sam didn't know why they had to find the guy if they were just going to dump him at a hospital and take off. Any policeman or upstanding citizen would do the same. Why should Dad risk jail time just to be the first to find Ross?

John looked at Sam in surprise. "Mr. Bleeding Heart over here doesn't understand why I want to help a fellow hunter who might be in a life threatening situation?"

Sam stopped for a second. _Life threatening? He just has a cold and some bumps and bruises. The guy walked twenty miles out of the woods with us. How is he already on death's door?_ "Why do you say that?"

"The understanding part or the helping part?"

"The life threatening part."

"Sam, he's got some very traumatic injuries. He has no way to get medical supplies or antibiotics for his pneumonia. That kind of infection can be fatal. You should know that. Clinics don't take kindly to the homeless, and neither do police." John glanced over at Sam again. "Ross could very well die from his chest infection alone. With all the injuries and blood loss on top of that, it's just a matter of time."

"So… so if we don't find him…" Sam's eyes widened as he imagined what would happen to Ross overnight, if no one helped him. He could see Ross walking through the woods or along a road while the rain and sleet started. Nobody would stop to help him. The shivering would tear open his sutures and, if they got bad enough, might contribute to dislocating his shoulder again. It would only be a matter of time before Ross would slip and fall down the embankment of the road, out of view of any ignorant passerby. He'd stop shivering soon after that. The muscles in his heart would get too cold to allow it to keep pumping and he'd… he'd…

Sam tried not to think about all the dead animals they passed on the way into town. He liked Ross. No way would that happen to him, not with Dad looking. Sam would help, of course, but he knew Dad would find Ross eventually; Dad always found his target.

"Right. He's got no one else. We're the only things standing between him and the great beyond."

"How do you know?" Sam demanded, bothered by how much Dad thought he knew about their new acquaintance. The guy hadn't even told them his real name. There was no way for Dad to look him up or find any information on him. "You don't even know him."

"I had Bobby ask around. One of his contacts knew a man whose 'son' matched Ross' description. The man is dead, and apparently his wife ran Ross out of the house. The kid called the dead guy's hunting buddies but not one of them offered to help him. The last time anyone heard from him was eight months ago. For all we know, he could have been sick that whole time, Sam." John said, the labored wheezes that he listened to for two nights in that tent echoing in his mind, urging his foot closer to the floor of the car.

"He got kicked out of his own house?" Sam asked, trying to understand. "What kind of mom would do that?"

"That woman was never a mother to Ross. Bobby told me she abused him. Both of his so called 'parents' did. I guess the old man just wanted some young blood to help out on hunts." John said with venom in his tone.

"Well no wonder he was so hesitant to accept help." Sam said quietly. He knew he and Dad weren't always on the best terms, in fact they rarely were, but he also knew Dad would never hurt him and would always help him out if he needed it. Dad was reliable, trustworthy. Sam couldn't imagine trusting someone who hit him or told him he was worthless all the time. From what Dad said, it seemed like Ross had never known the kind of unconditional support that a real family offered. It was written all over him, now that Sam thought about it. The old clothes, the poor living conditions, the way his ribs stuck out a little… _What a way to live. Nobody deserves that_.

John watched his son out of the corner of his eye, seemingly lost in thought. _What if I introduced the idea of having a brother slowly? So it wouldn't be so much a shock as it would be… kind of a realization._ John thought as a light clicked on in his head. "Remember when he said Ross wasn't his real name?"

"Yeah."

"Ross was the last name of the guy he hunted with, his 'father'. Turns out his real name is Dean. Everyone just knew the kid as Ross, though." John said. The name of his missing son felt strange on his lips, numbing to his ears. He'd spent so long hiding it from Sam that it felt… wrong to say his name. _I was protecting Sammy._ John tried to convince himself as the guilt washed over him. _I wasn't trying to erase Dean from our lives, I was just… protecting…_

"So why didn't he use _his_ last name instead of theirs?" Sam asked. "Because it sounds like he was never a part of their family."

"He didn't remember his last name. He was taken from his real family when he was very young. Bobby and I aren't sure what happened before the Ross' got him, but it was bad enough to make him forget his own name." John said, suppressing a shiver of nerves. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel; he hoped Sam wouldn't notice.

"Wow." Sam's eyes were wide at that little fact. He looked to his father in what could only be interpreted as helplessness. "When we find him… We're gonna help him, right, Dad? Help Dean?"

John's smile was small and short lived. "Yeah, Sammy. We're gonna help Dean."

* * *

 **A/N: In case you haven't realized it yet, Sam has a condition called epilepsy (a popular theme in SPN fics I've noticed). However, these are not the tonic-clonic seizures that most fics feature. In my story, he has absence seizures. They're mostly harmless but extremely annoying and can be dangerous if they happen at bad times. The 'etho' John keeps bringing up references ethosuximide, which is a drug to prevent this type of seizure. We'll explore more of Sammy's past in the upcoming chapters... See you Monday! And leave me a review! Questions are welcome too, of course.**


	8. Live and Let Die

**A/N: Vivi here! Happy Monday! Swearing in this chapter (like always). I've had a lot of positive feedback about this version of John. Nice John, caring Dad. That's not how I see him in the show, but his backstory here is different. Losing Dean and having to focus on actually raising Sam softened him up a little (a lot). Also, there's a reason Sam has epilepsy (not just a whim of mine) and John still hunts with him. It'll come up later in the story. You can't miss it. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _(Sam) looked to his father in what could only be interpreted as helplessness. "When we find him… We're gonna help him, right, Dad? Help Dean?"_

 _John's smile was small and short lived. "Yeah, Sammy. We're gonna help Dean."_

* * *

Dean woke before the sun came up, disoriented and stiff.

"Gah!" He batted at something that was so close to his face that he could feel its body heat. A cat hissed and ran off through the bushes, its fluffy white fur standing on end. Stupid thing even had a bell on its collar, tinkling away and out of earshot.

"Shit." Dean panted. The headache he had was still pounding and now that the drugs had worn completely off, so were his shoulder, side, back, and hip. It took him a good few minutes of muted curses and tiny movements to get his pain under control to the point where he could formulate a plan for the day.

 _Okay. Okay._ Dean thought, taking a deep breath and smothering the cough that almost got out. _Can't stay here. Owners will find me. No way to get food or water. Gotta walk to the city, find a spot, lay low for a while, maybe beg a few bucks for coffee or food. See if the shelter has any places tonight._ Dean nodded to himself. _Yeah, yeah, good plan. I can do this._

The twigs of the bush poked his side and he nearly blacked out. With blurred vision, he fell to his hand and knees on the pristine lawn of some yuppy family. All the houses around here were extravagant; if not huge, then intricately decorated and stylized to suburban perfection.

Dean almost felt bad for leaving a few drops of blood on their freshly mowed, green grass.

The going was slow on the walk to town. Every step sent a sharp jolt through his side and a wallop of tugging fire through his shoulder. Luckily, his back and hip didn't hurt so much when he was walking steadily along the sidewalks and highways. People walked past him as he neared the city limits, taking one glance at the stain he was sure blotted the side of his sweatshirt before looking down and hurrying by, or crossing the street. No one spoke to him. Not even the policeman he walked past near the bank. That guy looked at him with concern in his eyes, but made no move to confront the limping teen. Dean was kinda glad. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be outside a prison.

 _'m not gonna die…_ Dean chided himself, even as his thoughts started to swirl around in his head like bubbles in coffee. _Coffee…_

Exhaustion and stiffness weighted heavy in his limbs by the time he sank down against a wall in an alley that looked fairly uninhabited. He'd finally made it into the city, right back into the thick of it. Good timing too. His back, hip, and side had gone numb a few miles back and the shoulder only stung a little with movement. He was exhausted. Dean wandered far enough down the side street that if someone were just walking by on the sidewalk, they'd never even see him. The want for coffee was gone; he wasn't really even hungry anymore. All he could think about was how cold and sore he was. And how tired he was from walking, from breathing, from thinking, from dodging rough looking folks on the street. Even though the sun was still high in the afternoon sky and warming his now stiff hoodie, Dean shivered his way into a restless sleep. _Just a quick rest. Then I can… I can…_

* * *

The sun was setting. It had already been raining for an hour and the temperature had fallen some twenty degrees in that time. Sam's teeth were chattering behind him as John ploughed through a group of people with warm coats and umbrellas blocking the sidewalk near a bus stop. _Need to buy him a new coat. Waterproof this time._ John glanced back at Sam, who was doing his best to not look cold. He had seen that look enough times to know.

After searching through every street in the car, John had decided they should go on foot and ask around. Maybe someone knew Dean. Knew where he was.

That search also ended up fruitless, with every store clerk he spoke to denying ever seeing a homeless kid with that description. A few homeless folks knew _of_ him, but they hadn't actually stopped to talk, and they hadn't seen him around lately. John felt lucky to get that information at all; had he not been brandishing a carrier full of hot coffee cups, they wouldn't have given him a second glance.

"D-Dad, maybe we could c-call the police station again. Or the h-ospital. No way he's out in th-this." Sam said, jogging to close the distance to his father as the pair wove through the busy streets. "Or we could call the sh-shelters."

"Already did, Sam." John said. As of an hour and a half ago, when they broke for dinner, no one matching Dean had shown up at the police station, the hospital, the morgue, or the biggest homeless shelters in town. "He's not there."

"Maybe he really did have a p-place to go." Sam suggested, hoping that it was true. "If not a legitimate home, th-then maybe a friend's? Or an abandoned building? Anywhere out of the r-rain…"

"Let's hope you're right, kid." John said, skimming the water out of his hair and wiping it from his face. No matter how much he wanted to find his little boy, his littlest had to come first. Sam was here, with him. Sam depended on his Dad. Dad had to do what was best for Sam, even if it meant suspending the search for Dean. So with a long sigh, John turned around. "I'm taking you back to the motel. It's getting cold and I don't want you getting sick out here."

"But Dad, Dean could be out here all alone." Sam said, every fiber of his being wanting to keep searching. "If we don't f-find him-"

"If we don't get you out of this weather, you'll get sick and be no help in the search tomorrow." John said. _If there's a search tomorrow._ "Dean's tough. He's survived this long on his own, hasn't he?"

"Yeah, but not in the shape he's in now!" Sam exclaimed. John frowned at the few umbrella toters who turned to glare at them. "What if he doesn't m-m-make it, Dad? We can't just stop looking."

John had already been over and over this in his head. " _We_ are stopping for tonight. But _I_ am not. I'm taking you back to the motel and then I'll come out and do another sweep in the car. I'll get the police to help me search if I need to. File a missing persons report."

"But I w-want to help." Sam said, shivering violently for a few seconds. "I-" The teen stopped short, blinking hard before shivering again. "I think I need to take my medicine."

"It's not time yet." John said, confused. He checked his watch. It was only eight thirty in the evening.

"Yeah, b-but I can feel it." Sam said with a grimace as he wiped rain from his cheek. "It just feels like something's wrong. It's happened before, usually in the evening. I get like twenty seizures in an hour a couple hours after this feeling goes away."

"You've never told me this." John said, upset by this new knowledge. "Sam, since when does this happen?"

"Since I can remember." Sam looked down at the concrete and watched the drops from his hair splash in to the puddle growing underneath him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't seem important."

"You're grounded until further notice, kid. Back to the car. Now." John turned his son around and practically marched him the four blocks back to where the Impala was parked on the street.

* * *

Sam was coughing like crazy and almost out of medicine when they got back to the motel. John remembered counting the pills in the tent and he _knew_ Sam needed a refill but that fact had totally slipped his mind as soon as Dean was found and went missing. So, once he'd taken his meds, John set Sam up at the motel with a warm blanket, a police scanner, and all the munitions he could spare to be cleaned and polished while he was out. The usual 'grounded' punishment. Prescription sheet in hand, the frazzled father stepped back out into the weather.

It was sleeting now.

"Please let Dean be inside." John muttered as he threw open the driver's side door and made his way back to town. Even as late as it was, the streets were still busy. He had a hard time looking down every alley and covering every street when the traffic was stop and go like this.

John found a 24 hour pharmacy near the hospital in town and stopped to drop off the prescription. The overly cheerful woman behind the counter- with a metal grate above it- told him it would be about an hour before the medicine would be ready for pick up.

In that hour, about a quarter of the city was covered. There had been several false alarms; thin men in dark hoodies walking along the road, a homeless man crouched under a makeshift shelter at the mouth of an alley, shadows that flicked by so fast John didn't know if they were from a person or a demon.

He tried not to think about that last part.

"Here ya go!" The woman slid the little bottle under the grate after John had given her his credit card. He was eager to return to the search and frustrated that he had to lose his place in the city to pick up the pills. "Enjoy your evening, sir." She returned the card with that same plastic smile on her face.

"Thanks." John returned to the car and tossed the bottle into the glove box, where Sam's medicine usually lived. He took off again to resume his search, nearly cutting off a pristine Buick as he pulled onto the road. Twenty minutes and as many blocks later, John was starting to get antsy. More and more, his fingers were itching to call the police and have them put out an APB on Dean. He was pretty sure he could work up enough of a case to make that happen. _My little boy, just 17, he- he ran away and he didn't even have his coat! Officer, he was in a car accident a few days ago and he's hurt pretty bad. Might have a concussion. Don't even know if he's in his right mind. Please, officer, you've got to help my son._

 _Please, help my son. Find my son._

 _Find my little boy!_

John snapped back from the edge of that dark place in his mind when the tail lights in front of him shone blindingly red. A siren sounded from behind the Impala; traffic was stopped but the cruiser somehow crept by. Shaken from his waking nightmare, John took a deep breath as a voice much younger than today's begged a policeman to find his little boy while a baby cried in his arms. The echoes faded quickly enough. John had learned how to put those memories away long ago, before Sammy could even talk.

But the memories left one thing behind: that same frantic sense of urgency that he felt twelve years ago. His boy was in trouble and _he couldn't find him._

Another siren whirred by; an ambulance this time. The car behind him was so close that there was no way he could back up and turn around. Not that he could have if he wanted to. Just when he was thinking maybe there was enough room, he saw the concrete median and slammed his fist into the steering wheel. Already ice was beginning to form on his back windshield. _Don't they know what's happening?!_ John contemplated just abandoning his car, but he knew he could cover more area in the Impala than he could on foot. And he needed to get back to Sam at some point tonight.

Impatient cars were inching forward on the bumpers of those ahead of them, creating a little space between John and the Kia in front of him. The road was dark- the streetlamp had gone out before they arrived in town earlier that week. John remembered because Sammy pointed it out. Looked like it had been shot at, he said. John had made a mental note to avoid this area of town if at all possible, but here he was, stuck in traffic directly under the shot-out streetlight. The area being as dark as it was, it took him a few minutes to remember that there was an alley to his right, just past the Kia. If he went up on the sidewalk a little, he could make it in. Hopefully it went somewhere. Anywhere but this godforsaken traffic jam.

The Impala was definitely not made for rough terrain. The shocks groaned as the wheels pushed the solid car up onto the curb and along the old brick of the unused, poorly maintained alley. At the end, John could see a streetlamp; he could definitely cut through and get out of the traffic jam.

"Finally some good news." John muttered to himself as he slowly picked his way past the potholes and dumpsters, trying to avoid the worst of the obstacles. The last thing he needed was a flat tire.

The headlights snuck past a large dumpster and spilled warm light onto a blue trash bag that sat a few feet beyond the trash bin. There were plenty of other bags along the alley walls, probably waiting for trash day. It came as no surprise to see mounds of black plastic heaped outside the side doors to shops and restaurants. But…

 _Trash bags aren't usually that shade of blue. Not even those fancy recycling bags._ John realized, morbid curiosity and sharp anxiety gripping him. He stopped the car and backed up a few feet until the bag shape came back into the light.

He barely had the car in park before he lunged out of his door and raced around to the person huddled against the wall. The sleet was coming down harder now than it had been when he left the motel. He saw crystals of ice on the hood of the jacket the person wore as he approached. _Please be alive._ John prayed. _And if not… please don't be Dean._

John flipped his collar up to keep the worst of the sleet off of his neck before crouching down next to the unmoving shape. The person had their back to the wall, their head on their knees, and their arms tucked between their body and their legs, pulled close to conserve heat, probably. The hood of the jacket was up, providing what little protection it could against this tempest. "Hey, pal. You okay?" John watched for any sign of movement and readied himself for any potentially violent reflex that the person had for situations like this.

His skin started to crawl at the lack of a response. "Hey." He added a little more force to the word, thinking he could wake the person if they were sleeping.

Still nothing. John reached out and clasped his hand on the person's shoulder, shaking lightly. "Hey, I'm talking to you. Are you okay?" A grimace consumed his face as John withdrew his hand; the person was literally freezing. The fabric even crunched a little under his touch.

Then the person shivered. Just once, for about two seconds. _Still alive?_ John thought in hopeful amazement, his heart starting to beat a little faster. "You with me?"

No response. John looked up and down the alley. No one had tried to follow him, and there was no one else around. His curiosity grew by the second and soon, it was too much. Carefully, John lifted the hood and promptly dropped it back down, nearly falling over in shock.

That was the same sandy blond hair that Dean had. The same color hoodie- Sam's hoodie. The same muddy white sneakers that were falling apart. In an instant, John was on his knees in the slushy mess, shaking the kid's shoulders violently, hoping the pain he knew would shock the right one would wake him up. "Dean! Wake up, come on!"

Nothing.

John lifted his son's head and was surprised to see that his eyes were open. Unfocused and wandering, but open. "Dean, look at me." The eyes just kept rolling around, blinking slowly every now and then when a gust of wind sent a shock of icy water into his face. Tiny puffs of breath came slow and shallow out of his blue tinged lips and John could _hear_ the wheezing. It was deafening- the only sound he could focus on. "Dean!"

When no response came that time, John hauled the kid up in his arms and deposited him unceremoniously on the front seat of the Impala. With only 'get him warm' running through his mind, the man went on autopilot, running through all the things he knew about frostbite and hypothermia and shock. Within a minute of landing in the driver's seat and turning to his kid, he had all the soaking wet clothes, save the holey boxers and damp bandages, off and dropped shamelessly in the back seat. The heat was cranked up as high as it would go with all the vents aimed at the too-still kid-cicle currently belly up and limp on John's front bench. Braving the weather once more, John raced to the trunk where he kept an old wool blanket for emergencies. _If this ain't an emergency, I don't know what is._

Dean was curled on his side, mid-shiver when John returned. "Keep that up, kid. Don't stop shivering." John ordered even as he tucked the blanket tightly around the deathly pale body. Well, pale where the bruises hadn't darkened his skin. "I'm here now. We're gonna get you nice and warm, okay? You just keep on shiverin'. I'll be with you the whole time."

John kept Dean's head in his lap and held practiced fingers on the kid's neck as he raced along the city streets, trying to monitor the slow thump of blood through his son's carotid artery while mentally mapping the fastest way back to the motel. It was closer than the hospital and John really didn't want to leave Sam alone all night. Sure, the kid was thirteen and all, but occasionally he would still have night terrors; a remnant of the damage done twelve years ago, no doubt. But it was all John could do to wake him up when he was screaming and panicked and throwing punches in his sleep. They'd had the police called on them more than once and John didn't want Sam to have to deal with that alone tonight. Besides, he could do everything for Dean that the hospital would have done anyway. Just slowly warm the kid up and keep him warm for a while until he woke up on his own. That was easy, right? And in the morning, when they'd all had some rest, he would take Dean to the urgent care up the road and get him something for that cold of his.

If he made it that far. Dean's pulse was frighteningly slow and labored as John pressed his fingers over the side of the clammy neck. He had been hoping for good news. He didn't get it from there.

John got some good news in that there was virtually no traffic on the way to the motel.

Sam snapped awake from where he had fallen asleep face down on the table in a puddle of snot and drool, a gun barrel in one hand and a cleaning rod in the other. For a second, he panicked, thinking someone was breaking in, but then he saw a familiar jacket. "Dad?"

John carried in the bundle of blanket, careful not to pop stitches or dislocate that shoulder again. Sam realized what was happening instantly, racing over and shutting the door before John could say a word. He turned the heat up as he watched his father set the limp form on the bed closest to the door and the heater. "Get the warm water going in the sink." John ordered without bothering to explain the situation.

Sam obeyed wordlessly, racing to turn on the spout and returning with an armful of towels from the bathroom. He already knew what was going on and he had a good idea of what had happened on his father's search. Now was not the greatest time to insist that he be respected and treated like an adult, not ordered around. Sam knew that much now; he'd learned his lesson in the woods. "He was outside, wasn't he?" Sam asked, his voice betraying how nervous he was. He ran his sleeve across his nose, grimacing at the shiny streak that appeared.

Dad wasn't going to be happy when he found out Sam was getting sick.

"Yes." John took most of the towels and unwrapped Dean, revealing just how bad the situation was. "Can you dry his hair out?"

"Yeah." Sam jumped at the task, working quickly but carefully, trying not to get his burn bandages wet. John worked alongside Sam, carefully toweling off all the excess water and melted sleet that the blanket hadn't absorbed already.

The team tried not to focus on the poorly healed scars that were screamingly evident _all over_ the kid. John had seen some of them, the most prominent ones, in the tent before but in the bright electric light of the motel room… He wanted to somehow bring Jerry back to life just so he could kill him slowly over and over until he had as many wounds as Dean must have had to look like that. Jerry was supposed to look after the kid, not use him like a riot shield. John believed Bobby now; Dean had to have been hurt on almost every hunt. Maybe… maybe Dean didn't actually know how to fight; it was entirely possible that Jerry never taught him. Maybe the kid was just reckless. Maybe he thought he had nothing to lose.

"Sam, do you still have those sweatpants?" John asked as he whipped out his pocket knife and began cutting the soaking bandages off of Dean's torso.

"In my bag, I'll get 'em." Sam tossed the wet towel he had been using to the floor and raced to dig through his duffel.

"Get the med kit too." John called as he peeled the clingy layers of gauze off of Dean's skin. A frown spread on his face when he saw the irritated, raw edges of the claw marks and the places where several of the stitches had already pulled through his skin. The cuts didn't look good, or cared for at all, but they weren't infected yet. They hadn't had the time. _Silver lining._

"Here." Sam handed the kit to his father after removing the two hot water bottles that had been in there since Sam was a baby. The sweatpants were left in a heap at the foot of the bed as the kid set to work filling the bottles at the now steaming sink. John took the kit and set it aside for a moment, taking the opportunity of Sam's momentary absence to finish stripping Dean down and work the dry sweatpants up into place. John checked Dean's toes and found them pale but not frozen or necrotic. Same with his fingers, though the tips were showing the beginnings of frostnip; ice cold and sickeningly white, but still pliable. By the time Sam came back, his father was already taping scant layers of gauze over the angry wounds on Dean's side as carefully as he could through the violent shivering that had begun to shake the kid on the bed.

"You know what to do." John said as he taped the last piece of gauze in place. He didn't want to do a whole wrap just yet; they'd need as much skin to skin contact as possible to bring his body temperature back into normal range.

"Right." Sam gingerly tugged Dean's arms away from his body and tucked a water bottle into each armpit. Dean gave an almighty shiver and a loud, rough gasp when the heat finally hit his skin, scaring Sam into a short lived jolt. "Is he gonna be okay?" Sam asked as he pushed Dean's arms back against his body.

"I hope so." John said quietly. "I really hope so."

"Hospital?" Sam whispered hopefully, wringing his fingers as he thought about the chances of his stubborn father taking the man to the place of sterilization and painful fixes that he loathed. Sam didn't mind hospitals all that much; it was John who despised them. Sam supposed he had every right to; what father would like the place where his son had been diagnosed with a condition like epilepsy? Where they had to run every time Sam fell and hit his head during a seizure? Where a little boy would have to explain to the nurse why his father had a severe concussion and glass in his arms, only to be taken by CPS when their stories didn't match up?

"Not yet. Turn up the heat."

* * *

 **A/N: Leave a review! See you next Monday! (Maybe sooner actually, I've been dying to post more of this story...)**


	9. I Remember You

**A/N: Vivi here! I love hearing what you guys think of this fic! Keep up the reviews!**

 **Language warning in this one (I think, can't remember). Let's just assume there's going to be mild language in all my chapters. No surprise there. But also, mentions of rape and kidnapping. This is your warning. If it bothers you, it's not worth the pain to read this chapter.**

 **Also, the 'previously' has been shortened. Do not be alarmed.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"Hospital?" Sam whispered hopefully, wringing his fingers._

 _"Not yet. Turn up the heat."_

* * *

Twenty minutes later found John Winchester shirtless and sitting up against the headboard of one of the beds, his oldest son sitting between his legs, held tight against his chest under three blankets. Just the kid's head was showing, resting peacefully against John's shoulder with one of Sam's beanies trapping heat in his filthy hair. Dean had been steadily shivering for about ten minutes by that time; John was glad they had a cheap sling in their med kit, because Dean's shoulder was going to be a bitch tomorrow even without the jittering movement all night long. John started shivering too, after about a minute of deathly cold skin to skin contact. Nevertheless, he tugged Dean as tight against his chest as he could without causing further damage to the kid's back. Ideally, they would be chest to chest, but Dean's arm would have been torqued no matter how they positioned themselves and John didn't want it pop out again. So there they sat, on the bed closest to the tiny heater at the window, bundled up like Eskimos.

"What is this?" John asked, tuning back in to Sam's channel surfing after taking Dean's pulse _again_. Every two minutes, on the dot. It had been getting a little better, a little more reliable each time, but not by much. Though it was definitely an improvement over what it had been on the drive to the room.

Sam squinted at the screen, trying to remember the title. "Uh… I think it's a documentary about some kids who were murdered by Satanist teenagers. I don't know, there's a lot of weird symbols that I've never seen and-"

"Change it." John snapped. It had been a long day, and John knew that was no excuse to bark at Sam, but damn it, he was tired. Tired of missing kids, tired of the supernatural, tired of sickness. "Find something about animals or whatever. Something I can tune out."

"Bossy." Sam muttered, changing the channel from beside his father in bed. John wasn't sure why, but Sam had joined them on the bed nearest the door once he settled Dean in place. He didn't mind it. In fact, he was kind of glad to have the kid so close _voluntarily_ for a change. But it did make him wonder. Not enough to ask about it, but enough to pique his interest. He didn't want to push his luck and end up having Sam move away, but he was dying to know if it was him or Dean that Sam wanted to be near. Or maybe he just didn't want to feel alone during this rather tense situation.

"You're lucky I'm even letting you watch TV at all, young man. Grounded, remember?" John said. "Keeping secrets from your father nothing to take lightly. You should know that."

"I said I was sorry." Sam mumbled as he flipped from channel to channel.

"These water bottles need replaced again." John said, fishing them out of the blanket and handing them to Sam.

"Yes, sir." Sam groaned, practically dragging his feet over to the sink as John rubbed up and down Dean's good arm, trying to work some heat into it. The channel Sam stopped on was some kind of sitcom. There was a mother with big, eighties style hair, and a daughter who look almost the same. Then another daughter came in- turns out she was the older sister, as John soon found- who wore much more muted clothes and jumped at every little sound the dog in the background made. Sam came back with the water bottles and John put them back on Dean's thighs, where they would do the most good in warming his legs now that his torso seemed relatively thawed. Warm the body, then the limbs to avoid shock. It was even something he had taught Sammy already, years ago.

Sam continued channel surfing. John continued taking pulses. When whatever movie Sam had finally decided on ended, John expected the kid to continue flipping through the five or so channels this motel offered, even though it was getting late. He almost spoke up and told Sam to go to bed; Dean was warm enough to lay down on his own now, and John knew Sam was tired. However, he let the next program start up, hoping Sam would make the wise choice himself so John wouldn't have to be the grumpy, strict dad again. An infomercial for some kind of new spatula started playing and the channel didn't change. John looked over and smiled as Sam bumped into his arm, fast asleep and slowly falling his way into a horizontal position.

"Bedtime." John said softly, freeing one of his arms. He carefully slid out from behind Dean, who was now only shivering every few seconds instead of all the time, and got both his sons laying flat, tucked under three blankets with Dean in the center of the bed. The water bottles were refilled one more time, the TV shut off, a thin shirt donned, and the lights flicked out as John took his place next to Dean, throwing one arm over the kid's chest to give some direct body heat while the rest radiated from father and brother under the layers of fabric on top of them.

* * *

 _Get somewhere safer._ Dean thought through the fuzzy haze in his head. _I can get somewhere safer after…_ He paused, trying to remember exactly what he was doing. _Car… house… city. I can go to the shelter. When it opens. After a quick nap... Jus' restin' my eyes, really._

It was nice to lay flat, but Dean knew he shouldn't. Too open to attack. Too much space to protect. _Should sit against the wall. Pull my knees up, arms in._ He thought, not even trying to move a muscle.

That is, until he heard a soft snarling sound. The tiny burst of adrenaline that rushed through his body was just enough for him to force his eyes open a few millimeters.

 _When did it get s'dark?_ Dean thought, mildly alarmed. _Was afternoonish when I… when I… sat against the wall._ Panic started to tie a knot in his stomach. He _had_ sat against a wall, it _had_ been light out when he did it, and it was nowhere near this warm in that wind swept alley.

 _The hell's goin' on?_ Disoriented, he tried to move his head, tried to see anything in the darkness.

That's when he noticed the arm over his chest.

His bare chest.

Big. Hairy. Muscled arm.

On top of him.

 _N- no no no no. This is not happening._ Dean squeezed his eyes shut, willing the nightmare to end even as his heart started pounding and he gasped for a good breath of air. _I didn't- I did not get raped again. I can't- I couldn't have-_ A cough tried to break out, but he squelched it, not wanting to ruin any escape attempts before he knew what was happening. This wasn't the first time he'd been taken; he knew enough now to get away, even without weapons. Still, he was in a pretty bad position to just up and run.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, that much was obvious. There was something restraining his bad arm. A pillow under his head. Blankets over he and the mystery person beside him.

And no underwear.

Some kind of pants, but no underwear.

Someone had removed his underwear.

 _Please, no no no._ Dean bit his lip hard, drawing blood, trying to contain himself as panicked fear settled in his gut. _Take inventory. Take inventory._ Whenever he woke up a strange place, or didn't remember the night before, his go-to reaction was to take inventory of himself. _Shoulder hurts. More than usual. Someone damaged it moving me. Back hurts- shit, it_ hurts _._ It was like the pain from his bruise decided to make itself known all at once in a rush of smoldering fire. His face twisted in a silent scream, with just a hushed squeak actually getting out. _Ahh, damn it. Inventory. Inventory. Gah… Side… doesn't hurt so much. Not like before. Headache is worse though. Is that a… hat? I'm wearing a hat, okay. No shoes. Left arm has good motion but it's under that guy's arm. Nothing holding my legs. My… my 'down there' doesn't hurt._

The realization sent a flood of relief through his body, releasing tension he didn't know he'd built up. _Doesn't mean that's not on the menu though._ _Still gotta get outta here._

The snores continued from his left, but then he heard a muffled breath to his right.

 _There's another one?_ Dean felt his face pale in the eerily still darkness. _Two against one is not fair._ _How the hell am I supposed to get out of here now? There're probably five more guys in here just waiting until these assholes are done with me. I gotta get out. I gotta get out._

The thought of… _that_ happening was enough to send Dean over the edge. In a flurry of less than subtle and gratingly painful motion, he tried to slide out from under the arm toward the top of the bed without waking either man. Unfortunately, there was a wall, or a headboard or something stopping him from getting any further that direction. Without thinking, he launched himself over the bed, landing hard in the center of it on his good hand and knees, scurrying haphazardly off the end.

He thought the mattress was on the floor. They usually were when he was taken.

This one was not.

Dean fell about two feet onto a hard, carpeted floor, landing on his good forearm. Then the rest of him tumbled off the bed. He blacked out when his back made contact.

* * *

"Dean?"

"Wha's goin' on?"

"Stay where you are, Sam."

"But what's goin' on?"

"Shit. Dean, wake up."

"What's wrong with Dean?"

"I said stay there, Sam."

Someone tapped on his cheek, but Dean gave no response. He couldn't. His arms and legs wouldn't cooperate. They just sat there, twitching in pain from the eruption in his back that was currently all Dean could think about. Never mind the voices he thought he heard. Never mind that he was horizontal and really should sit up against something to more easily protect himself. Never mind breathing. Just _painpainpainpain_ in never ending, overlapping waves.

"Open your eyes, Dean. Please." The last word was little more than a whisper. Something tapped his cheek again, his good shoulder shaking a little soon after. "Breathe, kid. You gotta breathe."

Something heavy pushed down slowly but firmly on his chest, pushing the air right out of him and lighting his whole body on fire. The pain radiated instantly from his back to his toes, his fingers, his eyes. When the pressure let up, he sucked in a breath that turned around and came out as a loud, drawn out sob.

"Please lemme go." Dean sobbed a second time, trying to raise his good arm to protect his head. Something held it down. "I'm no good at that. Promise. I- I'm too small, it hurts- _please._ "

"Dean, open your eyes."

"I can't do that again! I- I'm sick." Dean howled, desperately trying to twist out from under the hand that was holding his good arm down. He knew better than to even think of relying on his bad arm for protection; moving it might make him pass out again.

A strong cough surprised Dean but he continued to struggle through the ensuing fit. When it had passed, he wriggled harder and the resistance from the person above him rose to counter his struggle. "Jus' lemme go!" It was unnerving that he could be so easily overpowered; at one time, Dean had thought himself strong. Then again, that was before he got sick.

The hand on his arm moved, only to be planted on his head, holding him down. A knee captured his hand before he could retaliate. A wave of panic washed through him as Dean realized the man was straddling him now. At least he was kind enough not to break any fingers with his knee. Yet.

Suddenly, one of his eyes was forced open, flooding his brain with searing pain as the light poured in. Then it was allowed to close. The other eye was pushed open just when Dean thought he might be able to jerk out of this creep's grip. Humiliating tears spilled from his throbbing eyes and a dull whimper escaped his throat. He wasn't able to hold back as another few coughs snuck out.

The person let go of his head, but _holy hell._ Dean realized he couldn't breathe well enough through all these coughing fits, not while he was laying down. It felt like all the crap that had infiltrated his lungs had settled into place and cut off his air supply. His cold had never been _this_ bad before. Then again, he didn't usually lay down flat.

Dean winced as he tried to suck in air, feeling his face contort into a silent gasp that couldn't accomplish anything. His back, now much lower on his list of priorities, arched as he tried to buck the guy off of him. All he wanted was to _breathe_ , dammit. They should know that he wouldn't be any good to them dead, right? They would want him alive for whatever they were gonna do… right?

 _Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad after all._

In the midst of his struggles, someone pushed his arched back to the floor- thankfully missing the stitches- and then… he wasn't laying down anymore. The guy pulled him up into a seated position and held him there with one arm across his chest, keeping his now limp, oxygen deprived body from doubling over and the other thumping carefully at his back, around the bruise, like he knew where it was already and was purposefully avoiding the area. _Oh right. No shirt. Nice-guy kidnapper._

"Breathe, Dean." The guy said, his voice thick and low and gravelly from sleep.

 _They'll hurt me for waking them up. For trying to escape. This is how I go._ The thought only served to press his first desperate gasps into hopeless sobs. He wasn't sure why he was sad about dying. All he'd had in this life were a few blissful years of happiness, of a childhood that he barely remembered, and then constant abandonment, constant hunger- for food, for affection, for safety-, and unending suffering. No matter how he spun his life, it just didn't seem worth living anymore.

 _Why have I even tried to make it on my own?_

Despite his internal monologue, it was only another minute or so before Dean could suck in a good breath and stop the powerful urge to cough and/or sob. They were starting to feel like the same sensation. The guy still held onto him, still patted his back, firmly but carefully. For a split second, his concussed, fevered mind thought that maybe this was Dad, his _real_ _Dad_ , who had finally found him- had never stopped looking- and actually… actually wanted him back. Even after what he did.

Then Dean remembered what was really happening. He realized he was leaning heavily on the guy's shoulder and tried to push the pervert away, tried to get up and run.

That wasn't happening. Not in his condition. And he knew that. He had to try anyway, though. There was no way he would just sit back and get gang raped by these scumlords. No way was he going to let them break his spirit and make a profit off of him, even if his life did suck. No one had broken him yet, and he wasn't about to let go now. If anyone would break Dean, it would be Dean.

"Get off of me." Dean growled, sounding more like a plea than a threat.

"Calm down, Dean. You're safe."

"Jus' let me go!" He shouted. _Maybe there are decent people around. Maybe someone will call the cops._ Dean hoped, but knew that wouldn't be the case. If he was where he thought he was, no one would ever come to help him. Probably a good thing; keep the kind folks out of harm's way and let the underground consume the leftovers of society.

"Dean, you need to stop this. You're gonna hurt your arm again, kiddo."

Dean froze. _K-kiddo?_

 _Dean? He- he knows my name? My real name?_ Dean stopped shoving at the man and willed his eyes to open. The room was so bright at first. Then, as his eyes adjusted, he saw two strange things.

First, he was in a motel room. Not a sectioned off part of an abandoned building. Not a dank alley passage. Not some subterranean hideaway or the back of a container truck. An actual motel room, with two beds, a window, a TV, and _carpet_. And it was _warm_ , even against his bare skin.

Second, a set of curious hazel eyes stared right into his as he blinked, trying to make sense of the scene before him, waiting for it to dissipate into the hell he knew was coming. But those eyes looked so familiar…

"S… Sam?" Dean whispered, gripping the arm around his chest as hard as he could with his good hand. _The Winchester kid got taken too. But he's just a baby! He's too young for this- they can't-_ "Run, Sam! Get out of here and run as fast and as far as you can! Find your Dad!" Dean half expected to be thrown back to the ground and smothered, but nothing happened. He wasn't moved, and Sam didn't run. "Go!"

"It's okay, Dean. We found you." Sam said, his voice quiet and strangely soothing. The kid just kept crouching in front of him, looking him over like he was reading an open book. "You're safe." Sam even smiled.

"I- wha- what's going on?" Dean stammered, looking around. It made him dizzy, but he saw all he wanted to see. They were the only three people in the room. Sam, himself, and the brute holding him upright. The door was just to his right. _How the hell am I going to save the kid_ and _get away from this thug with a fucking useless arm?_

"You were freezing to death in an alley."

The voice behind him made his hair stand on end. _Yeah, he's big. Shit._ The guy pulled him tightly against his shoulder again, taking more of his weight; it scared Dean, but it actually made his back feel ten times better. He decided to wait a few seconds before fighting again, try to build up some strength for the big escape.

"Dad said your hoodie was frozen to the bricks and you were almost hypothermic. But we fixed you up with some warm blankets." Sam knelt in front of him, at his feet. "I got the hot water bottles and you can keep the sweatpants if you like them. They're nice and thick."

Dean looked down at his legs, his whole head feeling twenty pounds heavier than it actually was and spinning in time with the rest of the room. Gray sweatpants hung around his hips and dangled down almost past his heels. They were… really warm, actually, and so so soft.

"We'll need to get you some more clothes soon. Can't take you to a doctor in a bloody hoodie and sweatpants."

 _Sh- Wait. I- I know that voice._ Dean realized, his eyes getting wide. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the man holding him upright.

John Winchester leaned back a little so Dean could see his face clearly, trying to hide the unsettled feeling that he got as soon as he had touched Dean's skin. Heat was pouring off the kid now. _Just calm down, son. Let me take care of you._ The wild look in his hazy green eyes did little to reassure John. _Well, now that I think about it, I probably should have told you who I was, holding you like this._ John thought with a hint of remorse. _You must not have recognized me. That's why you're having a meltdown._

 _S-Sammy's safe. And Dad's here..._ That was the last thing to go through Dean's fried brain before he checked out.

All of a sudden, the fight went out of his kid and John had to shift slightly to keep him from falling to the floor. Dean's head rolled lifelessly onto his shoulder, his whole body turning to hot jello in an instant.

"Dean?" John asked, shaking his good shoulder. Surely the kid hadn't thrown himself onto John on purpose. He had just been raising hell about being confined, pushing weakly at the older hunter's arms to try and get away.

"He passed out, Dad." Sam said, frowning as he stood up. "What's wrong with him?"

"He was scared, but I think he's better now. He just needs sleep." John said, breathing a sigh of relief now that he knew what was happening. _Poor kid was running on adrenaline and fear. Take one away and boom. Down for the count._ "Didn't I tell you to stay where you were?"

"Yeah, but he was freaking out."

"That's why I asked you to keep your distance, Sam. He could have hurt you. He's a hunter, remember?" John said as he lifted Dean back onto the bed, carefully maneuvering him onto his good side. John had a pretty well supported idea of what knocked him out when he fell, and it wasn't a bonk on the head.

"But he's nice. He wouldn't hurt me." Sam said, as if it were the simplest concept in the world. "He tried to get me out of 'danger', remember? And he calmed down after _I_ talked to him."

 _Smug little snot._ "He didn't know where he was. You just gave him something to ground to." John said, tugging a sheet back up and over the boy who was now snoring ever so softly, much softer than when John had fallen asleep. _He's even got the family snore._ A little grin lit up his face and crinkled his tired eyes. At least in sleep Dean looked peaceful. His short, violent life hadn't pounded the spirit out of him yet. _Thank God._

"And you scared the piss out of him." Sam said, crossing his arms.

John looked at his son in surprise. The kid would have looked so much more serious had he not been sporting a Batman tee that was a size too big for him and blue plaid pajama pants that looked as plush as they felt. "Language, Sam. We're hunters, not hicks. Back to bed."

Sam almost stuck his tongue out at the grumpy old man, but he held back, all too aware that he was already grounded. He didn't want to stay grounded for longer than he had to. "Uh, which bed?" Sam asked when he realized that there were three people and two beds. Dean was already snuggled into the center of the one farthest from the door and Dad was seated on the other.

"You're with me until he wakes up and actually knows where he is." John said, motioning to the bed beside him. "I don't want you getting in the way if he has another episode."

"But Dad…" Sam whined. He knew there was no better option. No couch in the room. No extra bedding. No way to stay warm in the Impala on a night like this. Still, he hated having to share a bed with Dad. He'd done it enough when he was little, and they had _just_ got back from that camping trip. Sam thought he might have a Dad overdose soon if this kept up.

"Bed, squirt. You need to sleep and I'm exhausted." John said quietly, watching Dean's side rise and fall slightly with every breath. At least the wheezing had let up a little.

"Fine." Sam muttered, crawling into bed and turning away from his father. "But I won't like it."

"You don't have to. Goodnight, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

* * *

 **A/N: Leave me some words! Can't wait to hear from you! Also, don't forget to follow and favorite so you can catch all the super random midweek postings that I sometimes do...**


	10. Living is a Problem Cuz Everything Dies

**A/N: Vivi here again! There's just something about today that made me want to do double posts on JB and FP. I'm excited about the upcoming chapters of both stories, so please tolerate my excessive posting. (Language warning.) Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"Bed, squirt. You need to sleep and I'm exhausted." John said quietly, watching Dean's side rise and fall slightly with every breath. At least the wheezing had let up a little._

 _"Fine." Sam muttered, crawling into bed and turning away from his father. "But I won't like it."_

 _"You don't have to. Goodnight, Sammy."_

 _"It's Sam."_

* * *

"Why isn't he waking up?" Sam asked quietly, fidgeting with the corner of a page from his test prep book. His stomach growled. "He's been asleep for _hours._ "

"He'll wake up when it's time to." John said, not bothering to look up from where he was finishing the documentation of this hunt in his journal. He erased the question mark he'd put next to 'flare gun'. The walk back to the car through the forest had been filled with idle musings. Including pondering the effectiveness of a flare gun against a wendigo. John decided it would probably work, but that he should still bring a butane torch and bug spray, just in case.

"But I'm hungry." Sam whined, fully aware of how annoying he sounded. "We missed breakfast and it's almost past lunchtime, Dad."

John glanced up at the clock. It was nearing three in the afternoon, but he didn't dare leave the room to go get food without Sam. He couldn't leave Sam to watch over Dean in case Dean woke up and panicked. Dean was bigger than Sam, not by much, but enough that left no doubt in John's mind that Dean would win in a fight and possibly do permanent damage to his boy. But he couldn't leave _with_ Sam to go get food, in case Dean woke up and got away again. And he didn't want to wake Dean up because he knew the kid would be in agonizing pain when it happened and he wanted that lanky body to heal as fast as it could. People heal faster when they're asleep.

But the longer Sam went without food, the more likely he was to have a seizure, even on his medicine. And John knew how much Sam hated the seizures, even if they did no damage by themselves.

There was just no good option here.

A sigh the size of Kansas left John's lungs and he leaned back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into his already sore eyes. "What do you want me to do about it, Sam?"

"I dunno. We could order pizza or something."

 _Didn't think of that._ "Not Hawaiian pizza. What do you want?" John asked, looking around for the little pamphlet of local attractions he was sure lurked in the room somewhere. No matter where they went, there was always at least one pizza place and it was almost always listed in those goofy pamphlets.

"But I like Hawaiian pizza." Sam pouted as he closed his book and left it on the table. "Why can't we get what I want for once?"

John deadpanned the kid. "Sam, the last four pizzas we've ordered have been Hawaiian. I can't take any more ham and pineapple. You pick the same thing every time. Pick something else or I'll pick."

"I do not…" Sam thought back to the past few weeks and yes, the last few had been Hawaiian pizzas. Dad was right. He hated when Dad was right.

"Meat lover's it is." John said when Sam hesitated. _He probably doesn't even remember what the other kinds of pizza are._

"Can you at least put peppers on it?" Sam huffed, lowering his gaze back to the book in his lap.

"Fine."

Sam was practically drooling when the thing came. He took it right out of John's hands when the pizza man gave it to him. John paid while Sam shoved his first slice into his mouth.

"Don't burn your mouth, kid." John said, chuckling as Sam did the 'this is too hot' goofy dragon breathing thing.

"Foo lae." Sam muttered through his mouthful of dough and meat.

John was just about to take his own slice when a low, prolonged groan escaped from under the blankets of the only occupied bed. "Mornin' sunshine." John said, abandoning his pizza pursuit to sit on the empty bed and face his heavy sleeper so the kid could see him and not panic again.

Dean squinted at the big dark blob across from him. _John._ Dean remembered. _Sam's here too, somewhere. They won't do anything, probably. Haven't yet, anyway_. "The hell happ'ned?" Dean groaned, grimacing against the onslaught of angry nerve endings. Everything hurt. Like usual. At least he knew kind of where he was now. He remembered that the whole Winchester family was here, and that they wouldn't hurt him. They might even keep others from hurting him too, but he wasn't counting on that. The lock on the door should do just fine for now. In the back of his mind, he hoped that they would give him more pain meds, more food, more gauze, maybe some ice to calm down the fire in his back, but he scolded himself for getting his hopes up and being so greedy. They didn't owe him anything; he owed them. It's not like they were doing this out of the kindness of their hearts.

Then again… "Why'm I 'ere?" He had no memory of meeting up with the father and son team. No memory of agreeing to stay with them in their motel room. _That doesn't sound like something I'd ever do. Compromising situation. No way to protect myself._ No memory of coming here, or changing clothes, or getting into bed. Or of changing his bandages, which no longer burned like they were getting infected. "'s goin' on?"

"You told me you had somewhere to go. And I found you halfway to hypothermia on the street. Wanna explain that to me?" John used his 'Father' voice, the one Sam hated and the only one that got any solid answers out of the kid when he was being ornery. Hopefully it worked on Dean too.

"Froz'n?" Confusion was heavy in Dean's voice. "Jus' sat down ta take a nap. 'as afternoon, sun 'as shinin'…"

The corner of John's mouth turned down as he listened to the slurred words that spilled from his oldest. "Afternoon? Dean, I didn't find you until almost midnight last night. You're saying you were in that alley for almost twelve hours? It had already been raining for four hours by then. Sleet started up at like nine thirty. You didn't wake up for any of that?"

"Like snowin'?" Dean asked, wincing as he tried to move his bad arm, which was carefully positioned in a mostly pain free arrangement, on top of a stack of blankets and pillows next to him. He wondered how it got that way. _Maybe they care more than I thought._

John stood and leaned over Dean's bed slowly and deliberately, watching as the kid's eyes grew wide with fear. But when Dean didn't make a move, John saw that as permission to slowly lay his hand on the kid's head. He ignored the flinch and snuffed whimper as those green eyes screwed shut. _Just as bad as before._ "How long have you really been sick, Dean?"

Dean pressed his face into the bed, away from the hand which was undoubtedly registering the fever he knew he had. "'m not sick." _Good one. Yeah, real convincing, Dean._

"How long?" John repeated firmly, careful to keep any anger out of his tone. He moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on his own leg instead of Dean's head. Even this far away, John could feel that heat was radiating off of him.

A muted sniffle was the only response John got. Dean's left arm came up and blocked John's view of his face, propping itself up on the right side of his neck, but well away from the bad shoulder. Memories of a snotty five year old doing the same thing tugged at his heartstrings. Kid hadn't wanted to be kept home from kindergarten at one of their long term stays even though he had a fever and a nose like a faucet. John suspended the hunt and stayed home with his boys for a few days anyway, the three of them watching movies and eating ice cream supposedly against Dean's will while he slowly got better. _Definitely my boy._

"We know you're sick, Dean, and we want to help. But you have to talk to us, you have to work with us if this is going to pan out. I can't force you to accept treatment." John sighed, cursing the family stubbornness. "I'm not asking for anything in return. Just let us do this for you."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you keep helping me?" Dean whispered around his elbow, unwilling to look up at the guy.

"Because that's what good people do… And I like your spunk. You, uh, you'd make a nice addition to our team, if you'll let us keep you around." John said lightly. He really hoped his latest bright idea would work. Maybe if the kid saw it as a business agreement or something he wouldn't be so hesitant to comply. "No strings attached. No owed favors, no repayment, no contract or anything like that. Just… travel around with us and hunt. We'll keep you in food and clothes and the like, and you help us out. Win-win situation, right?" _I can keep an eye on you and make sure you're healthy and cared for until you're ready to hear the truth. I can't lose you again._

Sam, who had been watching the scene unfold from the table across the room, looked to his father in confusion. Pizza was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind. _I thought we were just getting him home. What's this about him tagging along? We don't even know him._ Sam rolled his eyes and resigned himself to just play along with another of Dad's crazy ideas. _Dad might have actually gone nuts this time._

"Win-win? I'm a vegetable. I can barely move. I'll get you killed." Dean practically growled, tears starting to prick his eyes as a bitter resentment took up residence in his chest. _Too good to be true. That's how you know you should run, when it sounds too good. And I thought these were decent people. They just need a grunt. I'm a fixer-upper and they want to buy me for cheap so they can use me for all I'm worth. Make it seem all nice and fluffy at first and then dig their claws in and trap me, take my freedom away. Just like Winthrop. Just like Jerold._

"We can fix that, Dean. I'm taking you to the doctor no matter what you decide to do; remember that. You don't have to give me an answer right away, either. We can wait until you feel a little better to talk it out." John said, worried that he might have overstepped a boundary and unintentionally pushed Dean away.

"Why do you keep calling me Dean?" Dean asked in his best fake confused voice. "It's Ross, remember?"

John rolled his eyes and sighed. "Made some calls. Found out who you really are, _Dean._ Friend of mine has some connections who worked with you and Jerry a time or two."

Dean immediately tensed. "How did they know who I was? They never even acknowledged me. And what's it matter what my name is? I'm not the same person I was then and I never will be." He tried to glare at John, but he could only see part of the guy around his arm. "I'm trying to put that whole… shit storm behind me."

"Then why are you using Jerry's surname as your own?" John asked, genuinely curious. "Seems to me that if you wanted to forget, you should just use your birth name."

"Yeah, I should, shouldn't I? Do you know what my birth name is? Cuz I'd love to hear it." Dean snapped, letting some emotion into his tone. He felt vulnerable laying like this on the bed with the guy towering over him and he didn't like it. Felt like a caged animal. _Maybe something good will come of this after all. If… if he knows my name, and I can get it out of him, I can find my Dad. If he's even still alive. If he even wants to see me after I killed-_

"That's the name you gave Jerry when he took you in, isn't it? Dean?" John probed, trying to understand the sharp turn in the conversation.

"I thought that was established already. I mean my actual birth name. First and last. Do you know it?" Dean asked, his voice suddenly a lot more reserved, almost timid. _This could be it._

"I- I…" John wanted so badly to tell him. _You're Dean Winchester. You're my oldest son. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you. I'm sorry I couldn't find you. I'm so, so sorry… I'm here now. I- I'm here for you now._ And yet John couldn't bring himself to say the words while Sam was in the room. Not only would he throw a fit, but the new info would probably send Dean into a fit and then they'd need a stay at the hospital. Probably a long, awkward stay with too many questions packed in. "We were only told your first name." The words were thick on his tongue and hard to get out. "You don't know your last name? Is that what this is about?"

"Forget it." Dean sunk into the bed, the hope of news lost. _What's the point of hanging on if this is all I'm looking forward to? Moments of vivid hope and then weeks- months of despair, pain, and fear. This… this blows._ Snot started to plug up his nose and he resisted the urge to sniff and send the stuff to his already tender stomach. If in that moment he could've just ceased existing, he would have. But that's not how life works.

"Why don't we get some pain meds into you, huh? And maybe some pizza? Coffee? Then we can hit the store before the doc's office. Get you some clothes that actually fit." John said, standing and putting all his effort into sounding lighthearted and confident. "And a coat. A thick, waterproof coat."

Dean didn't move. Didn't even make a sound, aside from labored breathing. John just knew his nose was plugged up now. He wanted so badly to comfort his kid, but any attempt would send Dean over the edge. Best to just offer some physical relief from his physical pain.

Dean actually accepted the water and pills that John handed to him. _It's a start._ The weary dad thought, taking in the glossy green eyes and the suddenly dripping nose. John never was good with tears. That was Mary's thing. Dad specialized more in playtime and bedtime before… that night. And after Plainfield, he had a whole new learning curve with taking care of Sam. That tiny ball of giggles and energy and seizures was just so different from his little trooper with 'dinosaur green' eyes. "We've got meat lover's pizza over here. Or we can stop and get something if you really don't like pizza." John sighed when Dean didn't answer. _Please don't cry. Not again._ "I'll, uh, I'll get some ice for your back, okay? You think about the food."

Reassured that Dean knew where he was and wouldn't hurt Sam, John darted out and returned a minute later. He put some ice cubes from the frustrating machine down the walkway into a shopping bag. He tied the bag closed and wrapped it in a towel, asking Dean to lay on his stomach before putting the bag gingerly on the darkest part of Dean's bruise, since the makeshift icepack wasn't big enough to cover the whole outline of the tree.

Dean didn't show any signs of life for the next fifteen minutes as John and Sam sat in silence, eating and watching the lump on the bed.

"Dad, is he really gonna come with us?" Sam whispered nervously. "We don't even know him, remember? What if he's dangerous? What if he turns on us?"

"It'll be okay, Sam. Dean just needs some time to heal and we can give that to him. It's the least we can do. I know he won't want to take it easy and honestly, there's no way he _could_ with the way he lives right now. If we can convince him to stick around, we can go slow enough that he'll heal up in no time, maybe even put a few pounds on him." John said, glancing over at the unmoving bump.

"But how long is he gonna have to stay with us?"

John looked back to his youngest, about to scold him for such conceited question, when he saw the clear anxiety in the kid's eyes. _It's only ever been just us. He doesn't remember a time when he wasn't my top priority. Poor kid's getting dethroned._ John allowed his features to soften. "Sam, he has no one to go to. Everybody needs somebody, right?"

"Yeah, but why's it gotta be us?" Sam asked, fidgeting with a string on his pants.

"You see anyone else stepping up?"

"Well, no…"

John sighed and leaned forward on the table. "He's still a kid, Sam. Kids should be cared for and brought up right, not tossed to the streets to fend for themselves. He needs support, no matter how much he denies it. Especially with a chest infection that bad."

"So we're gonna bring him with us now?" Sam asked, still nervous but now a little more confident in his father's reasoning.

"If he lets us, yes."

"After the hospital, right?"

"We'll take him to an urgent care clinic. He won't want to stay in a hospital." John said, glancing over again at the bed. At that moment, the rasping sound of labored wheezing became deafening in his mind. With his heart dropping into his stomach, John stood, almost knocking over his chair in the process. He walked to the bed and shook Dean's shoulder. "Time to go, kid."

Dean's lips were turning blue. He didn't respond.

"Shit." John hissed, turning the boy over carefully, ignoring the sloshing ice, and lifting him up into a sitting position. Dean's head flopped almost lifelessly over John's arm. "Dean. Wake up."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, running to the bed and stopping short at the sight before him.

John leaned his son further forward and clapped him on the back a few times, trying to move the mucus out of the way so the kid could breathe. Dean didn't wake up, the wheezing didn't stop, no matter how hard John pounded. "Sam, find a clean shirt for him. We're taking Dean to the hospital."

* * *

 **A/N: Please don't hate me. Leave a review...**


	11. There is a Light that Never Goes Out

**A/N: Vivi here! Crazy week = evening posting. Don't have wifi at my house right now since we just moved (great timing, right?), but I couldn't keep you guys waiting for two whole weeks. I know that would drive _me_ crazy. **

**Warnings for mentions of rape and language.**

 **Hope you weren't waiting for this all day long... But now, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John leaned his son further forward and clapped him on the back a few times, trying to move the mucus out of the way so the kid could breathe. Dean didn't wake up, the wheezing didn't stop, no matter how hard John pounded. "Sam, find a clean shirt for him. We're taking Dean to the hospital."_

* * *

"Why did I lay him on his stomach? I _knew_ he was having trouble breathing." John growled to himself, pounding a hand on his steering wheel as they flew through the afternoon traffic towards Orem City General.

"What are we gonna tell the doctors?" Sam asked, grunting as he held Dean upright in the backseat during a particularly sharp curve. "They're gonna have questions."

"He- he's your brother, my son, seventeen years old." John swallowed the bile rising in his throat. _He's not going to believe me when I actually decide to tell him. Not after this._ "He, uh, he ran away a few months ago- the second week in May." _He'll say I'm making it up, that he isn't the son I want him to be._ "I told him he couldn't get his driver's license until he was eighteen and he didn't like that. We- we live in Orem, on Main." _He'll think I'm trying to replace him._ "I reported him missing but the police said he'd probably come back on his own after a few days of looking. I found him in an alley last night and didn't know how sick he was." _I'll just have to prove to them that_ both _of them matter. Both of them are my top priority._ "He told us he fell out of a tree a few days ago- that's where the other injuries are from. You got all that?" John glanced at his boys in the rearview mirror, one looking a little terrified, holding back a cough, and one finally starting to get some color back in his cheeks, even through the strangled breaths. Sam nodded, but looked at Dean with the same anxiety he had earlier. _We'll be fine. We've gotta be._

John sighed again, finally pulling into the hospital's parking lot. "You can always be the shy kid, Sam. You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to."

"Thanks, Dad." Sam said, voice smaller than it had been in a long while. He let the cough out, finally.

 _He can't think he's being replaced already, can he? He must not feel well today._ John thought as he stopped the Impala in front of the emergency room doors. _Waited too long to take his meds. He'll be off for at least a day now. And that cough doesn't sound good. What great timing._ "C'mon, Sam." John lifted Dean out of the car and carried him into the lobby, straight to the reception desk. A quick glance behind him made sure that Sam was still there. Then he looked to the teenage girl with a volunteer badge that read Marcie who was staring at Dean with her cheeks going pale. "My son can't breathe."

That was all he had to say to get the volunteer at the desk to rush through a set of sliding doors and disappear down a hallway. Within ten seconds a triage nurse was in the lobby, coaxing John and Sam back into an open room. There they met two RNs and a doctor, ready for action. Dean was set on a flat hospital bed and John was crowded out of arm's reach almost immediately. "Hey-" John pushed his way back to the bedside and pushed a button to raise the head of the bed.

"Sir, we need some room to work." One of the RNs said as she sent him a glare and clapped an oxygen mask over Dean's face.

"He can't breathe when he's laying flat. That's why we're here and not at a clinic." John snapped, raising the head until it was at a forty five degree angle. Then he stepped back and let the professionals work.

It only took five minutes for the doctor, Dr. Conwright, to start prescribing things. Only after John told them their story and signed a few forms, of course. Ten minutes later, Dean had an IV in his good arm, covered by the hospital gown he was wrestled into by a few nurses before the doctor left. _Good thing he was out for all that. Kid and his needles…_ John ran a hand down his face and watched the mask on Dean's face fog up every time he breathed out.

The only time he left the room was to park the car, and Sam came with him, suddenly very clingy. Dean looked exactly the same when they returned three minutes later.

'Walking pneumonia. It's bacterial.' The resident had said after putting her stethoscope back around her neck. They'd only waited… well, John wasn't sure. He hadn't noted the time when they arrived, but it didn't seem like very long. 'It's a pretty bad case, but it's definitely treatable. We'll have to get a sputum sample to figure out what bug it is, but for now we'll start him on a broad spectrum antibiotic. We can always narrow down the drug to the most potent one for whatever he's got going on, but it's best to start the process now even if this isn't the best option for his particular case in the end. We'll get him on some fluids, too. He looks a little dried out. And if he stays like this and doesn't get worse, I see no need for a ventilator. A mask should do just fine until we even out his sats. I'll talk this over with my attending and we can get the ball rolling, okay, Mr. Winchester?'

"Yeah. Sure." John quietly repeated his words from earlier. He glared down at the stack of paperwork on a chair beside him.

"Why are we using our real names?" Sam whispered to him, finally breaking his silence. He wouldn't talk to the nurse who tried to get a story out of him. John said he was shy and a little shaken up after the whole ordeal, which wasn't exactly a lie. Sam fell into a coughing fit which John didn't think was faked. The nurse just sent him a pitiful smile and wished he and his brother the best before leaving.

"I have a feeling we'll be here for a while; long enough for someone to figure out we're pulling insurance fraud." John answered quietly, glancing at the curtain that separated the room from the hallway. Apparently this ER left all the big, glass doors to their bays open and just sectioned them off with curtains. Probably easier for emergency access, but still annoying. "I'm just using the policy that we get your meds through, son."

"The real one?" Sam asked, eyes narrowing. _We never use the real one. I don't even have a copy of the insurance card for that one._

"Yeah. I pay good money for it, so why not use it for something other than meds once in a while?" John shrugged. Sam didn't need to know that his father had himself and _both_ his sons on the policy. The hope of Dean coming home never left John. As if putting him on every new _real_ insurance policy they bought meant he would come back. Leaving him off just felt wrong to John. Like the kid wouldn't need medical care when he came home. Because John always knew he would see his son again. He _had_ to come back. John _would_ find his little boy.

And he had.

And now that policy was coming in mighty handy. Even if the paperwork was a nightmare.

"Oh. Okay."

"We outta get your burn checked out while we're here." John said, eyeing the bandage on his youngest son's hand. "See if it's healing well."

"It's fine."

John rolled his eyes. "Just don't fight the doctor, Sam."

"Whatever."

"They'll probably ask you some questions when they find the rest of his injuries. You can be shy, or deny you knew about them, or tell them anything that fits with our story." John started leafing through the forms, filling in the sections he knew by heart. Dean's social, his full name, birthday, allergies- at least the old ones-, blood type, family history, etc. etc. "You'll be fine any way you want to go. Just fill me in as soon as you can if you tell them something new." John paused at a section of the intake papers that had a big open box for other things that should be considered besides the reason they were here. _Not while Sam's around._

"Okay. I can talk." Sam said, watching with something between confusion and concern as his father filled in Dean's forms as if he knew all the right information by heart. Sam figured he was probably just making stuff up, stuff that would sound right. Maybe he didn't think Dean would be in here long enough for the staff to find out about the incorrect information.

Sam's reserved manner had John a little more on edge than he had been when the nurses finally left. This wasn't the Sam he knew. "You doin' okay, kiddo?" John asked, nudging Sam's shoulder with his arm. "I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your afternoon; I know how much you hate hospitals. Just bear with me, at least until they say he's stable. I can run you back to the motel afterwards if you want me to. You get enough for lunch?"

"I'm fine." Sam said, returning to the string he found earlier on his jeans.

 _Red flag._ "What's wrong? Meds got you feelin' off today? Didn't sleep well?"

"I'm… I'm just nervous. What if we can't take care of him?" Sam asked, his voice so soft that John almost didn't hear him over the hustle and bustle outside the curtain divider. Sam almost wished he hadn't. Admitting that he wasn't feeling 100% confident in his father's decision was like admitting that he was a whiny, scared little kid. And the fact that he kept coughing didn't help him feel better about that fact. "I don't want him to hurt anymore. It looks really bad, Dad, like he's dying. How are _we_ supposed to help him?"

"First of all, he'll be my responsibility. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to. You're still a kid; I'm not going to take that from you any sooner than I have to. Second, he'll stay here until he's well enough to come back with us. We can handle it from then on." John hoped that spinning it like he would do most of the work but also let Sam help if he wanted to would ease the kid's obviously troubled mind. "It won't be so different from how we normally do things. He'll need help caring for his wounds, of course. We know all about that, don't we? He'll need to eat _healthy_ food, and a lot of it, so much less pizza from now on." John smirked at his pizza-loving son, who pouted before he could stop himself. "Kid looks about ready to blow away, but he needs good weight, not bad weight. And we can't buy as many M&Ms anymore." John glanced down at Sam, who was starting to look less worried, despite John's unmistakable teasing. "And he probably won't need any medicines other than an antibiotic and painkillers, and that's only temporary. Nothing we can't handle, right, Sam?" John asked, analyzing the nervous thirteen year old beside him.

"I guess. When you say it like that, it doesn't sound so bad." Sam shrugged, but looked a little more confident. John loved that he could have that effect on his kid.

"Exactly."

"It'll be kinda like having a brother, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, like having a big brother." John said as evenly as he could, returning with desperate concentration to the forms on his lap. _Don't ruin it. Don't tell him, he can't know until we're sure Dean's going to pull through. And then… maybe not for a while afterward. Not until we're sure Dean's going to stay._

"I always wanted a big brother."

 _Sam, please. Just stop talking._ John begged in his head. _You're not ready to hear this yet. I'm… I'm not ready for you to hear it yet._

* * *

"Room 209?" John asked, just to confirm what the nurse told him. "Why can't we just go with him?"

"The patient elevators aren't very big as it is, Mr. Winchester. You'll be there before he is, anyway. Room 209." The nurse, whose name tag read Trevor, seemed to think that was the end of the conversation. He walked away, leaving John and Sam in the hall outside Dean's room while the staff got ready to transport him to a regular room.

"C'mon, Dad. Let's just go." Sam said, looking down the hall towards the elevators and stairwell. "He'll be okay with all the staff people helping him." When John didn't budge, Sam stepped closer and leaned in so he wouldn't have to speak as loud. "We gotta check the room first, remember?"

"I know." John said, crossing his arms nervously. It would be just his luck to have Dean pop back to life without him around and spout off some story that didn't match theirs. Or try to fight the nurses when he couldn't ground to someone familiar.

"Then why aren't we going? They're almost done in there." Sam tugged lightly at John's elbow with his newly bandaged hand. A nurse stopped by to check on Dean and John convinced her to do a quick eval on Sam's burn. She seemed to think it was healing well. Sam still winced when anything brushed his palm. "All of them are cleared, we made sure. Dad, what if there's something pretending to be a nurse or a doctor up there? It could hurt Dean even worse. It could get _us._ "

"Just stay close, Sam. You'll be okay." John said quietly, nodding as the transport staff started to move the hospital bed. "Time to go."

"Finally."

They beat Dean to the second floor and did a preliminary sweep of the area, coughing 'Christo' every so often to see if anyone flinched. All seemed perfectly normal. Dean's room, room 209, was spotless and free of any weird stuff. No hex bags, no sigils, no spellwork. "Cleared." John declared. He and Sam leaned against the wall outside the room, monitoring it for any intruders while also keeping an eye out for Dean. They didn't have to wait long.

It was only a few minutes before he was settled in, snoring like a bear, probably high off his ass with pain meds. This room was smaller than the bay down in the ER, but it had a window and an actual door that was actually being put to good use.

Sam claimed his chair for their stay; it was somewhat padded, but still stiff and rigidly straight. John sat himself on the window bench, which was not padded, but had a pretty nice view. He could see the street, the parking lot, some of the surrounding buildings, and even a tiny corner of the city park. Maybe he could take Sam there at some point to stretch their legs. He knew the kid would go stir crazy eventually, because John had no intention of going any further than the park… or maybe the parking lot. He'd have to think about it.

The knock at the door had John returning from his thoughts in an instant. Doctors didn't wait for permission before barging into a room, but they did have the decency to knock a split second before they did so. "Mr…" The doctor looked down at her file for a moment. "Winchester? Dean Winchester?"

"That's him." John said, nodding to his son on the bed. He stood and put himself between Dean and the door.

"I'm Dr. Conwright, Internist with a concentration in Peds. I don't believe we've properly met. You probably saw my resident, Emily." Dr. Conwright closed the door behind her and went to shake John's hand, then Sam's so he wouldn't feel marginalized. Maureen Conwright knew enough about pediatric medicine to understand that even though a family member is the one admitted to the hospital, the child or sibling would be hurting too. They usually felt better when they thought they were being included in their loved one's healing.

Sam smiled a little before shyly looking away and moving to stand beside Dean, near the head of the bed.

"John Winchester. This is my youngest, Sam, and Dean is my oldest." John said, standing with the woman at the foot of Dean's bed.

"Nice to meet you. Mind if I do a couple tests and check a couple boxes?"

It took her twenty minutes to 'check her boxes'; she would do something and then literally check a box on some random sheet of paperwork from her file. "Looks like he's stable for the time being. I'll be back in a few hours, but the nurses will be stopping in more often to monitor things. Just press that big red button there if you need them." She pointed to a little remote-looking thing that was attached to the wall and set on a nightstand beside the hospital bed. It, in fact, had a large red button on it. "Any questions?"

"Yeah." John frowned. It certainly wasn't a kid friendly question. "Uh, Sam? Just stay here for a minute. We'll be right in the hall."

"O-okay." Sam stammered, somewhat nervous about being left alone in a strange place. He was nervous about Dean too; no matter how much he wanted to believe that Dean wouldn't hurt him, Sam really wasn't sure. As long as he'd known Dean, the guy had been violent when he didn't know where he was. And Sam had a feeling that he wouldn't know where he was when he woke up again. _Please be quick, Dad._

John and Dr. Conwright stepped into the hall and closed the door behind them. "Not kid appropriate?" She asked. This wasn't the first time a parent had done something like this and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Uh, no. Not for a kid Sam's age, at least." John said quietly, scanning the area. There were four nurses on duty, one of which was behind a big desk. The other three were buzzing around the ward, working away.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Winchester?"

John swallowed hard against the lump in this throat before turning toward the doc. As much as he never wanted to face something like this, as much as he hoped and prayed it would never happen to his little boy, he knew it already had. From the way his son acted while not fully conscious. From the things he said during those brief intervals. The way he tried to run from them in the motel room, only to fall and hurt himself. The way he tried to 'save' Sam during that same event. How he had a meltdown when he realized someone had removed his clothes and was holding him still. His reactions to seemingly benign things John said like 'lift your shirt' or 'come here'. The split seconds of terror when Dean looked up at John or when anyone touched him.

John knew his son wasn't okay, but in the worst way imaginable. "M-my son… he was gone for a long time. You got what we told the resident, right?"

"Yes, sir. I understand he ran away some months ago over a family argument."

"Yeah." _Not even close._ "I don't exactly know what happened while he wasn't with us, but I've already got a pretty good picture."

"Okay."

John paused, searching for words that wouldn't come. "I- He maybe have gotten himself into trouble. Or it may have been the other way around. He didn't have any means to support himself when he left; I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think he did something dangerous to get the money to live on his own. Either that or he was…" John couldn't help but close his eyes against the terrible image. "Taken."

Dr. Conwright did nothing more than wait for John to continue.

"I know he has pneumonia. I don't know how he got it, but he does. I know he fell out of a tree and got pretty messed up from that. But he's jumpy and violent when he's waking up and for a while afterwards. He's nervous and uneasy all the time. That kind of behavior doesn't come from any sickness or isolated physical trauma that I know of." John paused, hoping the doctor would connect the dots so he didn't have to say it outright. She just kept listening patiently.

John ran his hand through his hair and looked away, taking a deep breath.

"I know this is hard for you, John." Dr. Conwright said quietly. "But you need to say it. I can't assume things in my profession."

"I think he was sexually assaulted." John blurted out, crossing his arms uncomfortably. "If not raped. That, or he sold himself to survive."

"Have you talked to him about this at all?"

"No. Kid barely says two words anymore without flinching. He doesn't trust us again quite yet." John looked to the doctor like she had all the answers.

Unfortunately, she did not. "It's very possible, Mr. Winchester, that something happened to your son. I can't say anything for sure at this time, but I'll put your suspicions into his chart, for medical staff use only."

John nodded, stuffing his emotion back into the abyss he kept it in. "Is there any way I could get you- or someone- to test him? For STDs, or trauma?" _His needs come first. You can't break down until he's safe and healthy again. They need you._

"Of course." Dr. Conwright nodded, jotting something down on the file in her arm. "I'll come by in an hour or so to draw blood, swab his mouth, and do a quick exam. I'd send the resident, but Emily is a bit of a bleeding heart. She was sobbing after a case of psychological child abuse the other day. I'm trying to go easy on her for a while. Anything else, John?"

"Don't mention it to Sammy. Please. He'd be devastated." John said quietly.

"I understand. I'll get these orders in and we can move forward, okay?"

"Okay." _If only…_

* * *

An hour and twenty minutes later, Dr. Conwright came back and hustled Sam and John out of the room. A nurse went with her, holding a small red bin with a biohazard label on it. They didn't take more than five minutes.

"Please get those to the lab as quickly as possible, Rhonda." Dr. Conwright said as the nurse power walked down the hall. "You can come back in." She smiled at Sam and motioned for John to stay back a little. "No major trauma, no visible STD."

John nodded, but couldn't bring himself to smile.

This was his fault. It was all his fault.

* * *

 **A/N: Poor Dean-o. Sorry if this chapter was discombobulated. I had to add it in really quick so it was written quick. I meant to put it in when I wrote the bulk of this chapter, but I totally forgot. Kind of a big point to forget, right? Leave me some words. See you next week!**


	12. Who Wants to Live Forever

**A/N: Vivi here! Wifi is back! WOOO! I can't wait for Dean to wake up... Can you?**

 **No?**

 **Well then let's just read on...**

 **(Swearing alert and other nasties in this chapter. Previous warnings apply.)**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John nodded, but couldn't bring himself to smile._

 _This was his fault. It was all his fault._

* * *

It took a few hours of patiently waiting, but eventually Dean woke up.

The first thing he wanted to do was vomit. Everywhere. Roiling acid burning up his throat was the very first thing that broke through the painless nothingness that he'd enjoyed for… how long?

 _What the hell is going on?_ He wondered as a sense of dread swept through him. Slowly, as he tried to contain the fury in his stomach, he became aware of his surroundings.

He wasn't in the motel room anymore, that much was obvious. Now he was on his back, sitting up, kinda, and there was no musty smell. It was so much easier to breathe than before. A twinge of sadness flicked by as he realized that he hadn't died in that motel like he intended to. He hadn't had the energy to alert the Winchesters of his lack of ability to draw air into his lungs and he'd made his peace with that. He was tired. Just so damn tired of everything.

And now, sharp plastic rubbed at his face. Something was blowing cold air into his nose and mouth and the sensation was… unpleasant. He tried to swat at whatever was stuck on his face, but an electric pain shot up his arm and he gasped. His eyes finally decided they could open.

 _Hospital?_ Dean realized as he took in the familiar wallpaper, the ugly gown he wore, the scratchy blanket over him.

The two IV tubes stuck in either arm.

That was it for his stomach.

Dean vomited over the side of the bed before John and Sam even knew he was awake. In the process, he tore one of his IVs from his arm and ripped the oxygen mask, now thoroughly coated in acid, off of his face, letting it fall to the floor with a sickening plop. After a few strong heaves, he realized that he couldn't breathe as well anymore. The effort of retching left him breathless and exhausted.

He didn't even realize someone was talking and patting his back until a little blue bag was put under his nose and he was pushed back onto the bed.

"Easy there, kiddo."

"He looks green."

"Look through those drawers, Sam. Find me some gauze. His arm's bleeding."

"Okay, hold on."

"John?" Dean panted, oddly relieved to hear that familiar voice taking control of the situation.

The equally familiar face came into focus just a few seconds later as the man pressed a thick pad of gauze to the inside of Dean's elbow, right where the IV was torn out. It hurt like hell, but Dean felt his body relax, going from high-alert-rigid to something he hadn't felt in a long time: calm. Peaceful calm. "I'm right here."

 _He stayed with me? Didn't just drop me off and leave like everybody else? How long has it been?_ "I don' feel good." Dean laid his head back and grimaced, wishing for nothing more than his beads, so he could focus on those and not the pain, the all over ache that assaulted him.

"I know, son. We called the nurse, she'll be here soon." John said. He missed the subtle widening of Dean's eyes at the term of endearment.

 _No one calls me 'son'. Not even by accident. I'm- I'm not the type to get called that._ Dean watched and gasped as John pressed harder against the bleed and cursed the nurse for taking so long to come. The familiar timbre of the old man's voice started to sound far away and garbled the longer Dean listened to him insult the nurse's work ethic.

By the time the woman showed up, Dean was out cold again, the episode having taken all the energy he'd built up so far. At least in unconsciousness, Dean's breaths seemed to have evened out a bit.

"What can I do for ya?" The new nurse, Millie, was an older woman with chaotic blonde, curly hair. She was much slower than the residents and nurses in the emergency department, but John had expected as much when they were sent to a second floor room. That floor was for mostly stable patients, which was probably a good thing. At least Dean had his own room now and there was no annoying curtain with frantic activity behind it.

"He woke up and, well…" John motioned to the slowly spreading brown puddle on the floor. "And he pulled an IV out when he moved."

"Poor dear." Millie went to the other side of the bed and pulled the gauze up to check the site. "Tore a little hole. I'll just put the IV in his hand, I guess. Looks like he snapped his oxygen tube, too."

"I thought he was breathing harder." John said, running a hand through his hair nervously. It was driving him crazy that his son couldn't breathe well enough to survive on his own and there was very little that he could do about it aside from call the nurse to adjust the oxygen flow when the little numbers on the screen went below 93.

"I'll go grab another one and some things to fix his arm before we put his IV back in. And I'll definitely call housekeeping. Anything else I should know about before I go?" Millie asked as she pressed the gauze back down on the still bleeding wound.

"He said a few words. Recognized me." John said, shrugging.

Millie smiled. "That's a relief. I'll let the doctor know. She'll probably want to do a full neurological exam on him when he wakes up again. Make sure he wasn't without oxygen for so long that permanent damage was done. I'll be right back." With that, she left the room.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Dr. Conwright made another appearance. Sam had been steadily nodding off for half an hour- bored out of his mind- when John slipped away, following Dr. Conwright when she opened the door just a little and motioned for him to come into the hall.

"So? Anything?" John asked quietly, eyeing the nurse who went into the room right next to Dean's.

"Unfortunately, yes."

John's heart froze. He couldn't breathe.

Dr. Conwright knew this would happen to the father. It happened to almost every parent whose child was diagnosed with an STD. She learned it was best to just get it over with. "But it's just one infection, and it's curable. Seven days of antibiotics and it should be gone. You'll need to have someone confirm it's gone a week after treatment though. Sometimes it's resilient; still curable, but it'll need stronger antibiotics."

"What is it?"

"Chlamydia. But from the exam earlier, I'm assuming it was dormant. He didn't have any active disease. Actually, he may have had this infection for a while. Chlamydia can be dormant for weeks to years between flares." Dr. Conwright said, hoping John understood what was going on. Parents sometimes had a few minutes of shock after the diagnosis. They weren't usually all there during that time.

"Was it doing damage while it was dormant? Is anything permanent?"

 _Good. He is with it._ "We don't know. If he's had it for a long time, it could have caused some reproductive scarring, which could cause fertility issues later in life. I didn't see anything extreme, but we won't know until he wants to have kids. Aside from that, it burns like crazy during a flare but when it's dormant, the levels of bacteria are usually low enough to not harm the host. Dean most likely had a flare when he was first infected. It resolved, obviously; though whether it was from a failed treatment or remission, I'm not sure."

"So… a week of pills and he's fine?" John asked, amazed that his little boy wasn't any worse. Of course the possibility of scarring wore at John's mind, but Dean was alive. He just, maybe, couldn't have kids very easily; that concern was small peanuts compared to everything else that had been going on. The tension in John's shoulders eased up just a little, because by this time John had been expecting something along the lines of a terminal diagnosis; his mind was just going round and round in worry, each pass a little darker than the last.

"Most likely. We can get him started as soon as he wakes up and can handle pills. It shouldn't interact with the IV antibiotics for his pneumonia. Those are the big guns and are very targeted drugs specifically for his type of pneumonia." Dr. Conwright said with a small, sympathetic smile. "We're doing our best for Dean, Mr. Winchester. We'll handle the pills and IVs. You handle the comfort and support, okay?"

"Okay." _I can do that._

* * *

Dean woke up again a few hours later, even more violent and disoriented than he had been back at the motel.

"Dean, _Dean._ Calm down. Hey, leave that alone-" John pinned the kid's good hand and his recently-sling-wrapped arm at his sides after he tried to rip the cannula out of his nose. Ballsy kid even risked a grab for his IV before John caught him. " _Hey._ " John had only _just_ managed to convince the nurse to give him a sling and move all the IVs to the other arm. Dean had been wincing in his sleep every time the nurse laid her hand on the joint while absently checking the IVs. He knew it had to be hurting; the abused shoulder went through more than twenty four hours supporting the weight of his whole arm and that couldn't have been good for the healing process.

"Lemme go! Just let me go!" Dean shouted, panicking as he struggled against the big guy who was holding him down against the… the bed? _Where am I? Kidnapped?_ "Please, I won't call the cops. I won't bother you ever again. Just let me go. Please- I'm sick." The sharp thing rubbed against his nose again and the tried to wretch his head away from it, only to have it dig in further and come away with some pinkish red on it.

 _I know you're sick, kid._ "You're in the hospital, Dean. You have pneumonia. Leave that thing in your nose or you won't be able to breathe, okay?" John kept his voice soft but authoritative. He didn't want to scare Dean for the millionth time, but he needed the kid to cool it before a nurse came by and heard his rantings. What if the nurse heard him begging to be let go? What if the kid said something that got Sam and John kicked out of the hospital, or got their visiting rights revoked? How would John even know when Dean would be released if his own son denied any affiliation with him? And how could John go willingly, knowing that his son would continue to suffer if he couldn't find him again after this? Obviously the kid wasn't right in the head; probably hadn't been in a few weeks, since the pneumonia got a good solid fever constantly cooking his brain. At least, that's what John hoped. In the darker parts of his mind, he worried that his son was broken in ways even he couldn't fix.

"Let go!" Dean shouted again. In the past, he'd fought off guys bigger than this, beheaded vamps and took down werewolves twice his size. But he usually had the element of surprise behind him, or at least a gun or knife. Now… now all he had were his head and his legs, which were held down tight by something around his entire lower half. Nothing Dean could see made any sense to him; it was all too white, too bright to even focus on. It was terrifying. " _Please!_ "

"Shh, quiet down, kiddo. If I let go, are you going to leave the IV and the oxygen alone?"

Hardly any of the dark man's words made it through the fog in his head, but Dean thought he saw him nodding and nodded along as if he understood everything perfectly.

The man let go slowly.

Dean waited until he was about a foot away before jerking the tube out of his nose and trying to fight the guy off with one arm. He didn't know why his other arm didn't work right, but he didn't have time to investigate.

John had Dean's arms pinned again in seconds, but the little plastic tube was snapped and lay hissing softly on the bed next to Dean's head. Already the kid was breathing hard and looking confused about that fact, his demeanor going from frenzied and violent to frantic and panicked.

"Let me go." Dean growled, feeling like the energy was getting sucked out of him with every passing moment. The guy had probably given him something, shot him up. That meant he didn't have much time until he passed out from it, or keeled over. No time to mess around then.

John shook his head and leaned in close. "I'll get them to restrain you if you don't cool-"

Dean rammed his head into the man's as hard as he could, sending stars dancing across his too white vision. The man let one of his arms go but Dean didn't even notice. His head had fallen back against his pillow and all he could do was try to stay awake. Try to stop the dizziness. Try to focus his eyes away from the black dots. Try to keep from throwing up.

"Dean? You okay, kid? Say something." John, who had recovered quickly from the weak attempt at retaliation, looked worriedly to the growing red mark on the kid's forehead. _If you just gave yourself another concussion… I'll ground you. It might not mean anything, but you'll be grounded, damn it._ With Sam, that usually meant taking away books and the remote and giving him a cleaning cloth and all the guns they had. With Dean… John wasn't sure quite yet. He probably wouldn't feel comfortable grounding the kid for a long time, anyway. He didn't want Dean to try and run again anytime soon.

The man was back in his field of view, blocking the light and coming in and out of focus every few seconds. Dean swallowed back the lump in his throat and let his eyes slide closed as he tried to catch his breath. At the moment, the man wasn't doing anything particularly nasty to him, so he probably had a few seconds to recover before he was slugged or shot up with something else.

A softer sound broke the silence. "Dean, it's okay. You're totally safe here. Me and Dad are watching out for you. No monsters, I promise."

Dean's eyes shot open and he looked past the man who was still leaning over him. He thought he'd heard a voice. Something familiar. A few feet away, a kid with a mess of brown hair was holding a clear plastic tube nervously in both hands. "Sam?" Dean grunted, the effort sapping even more of his energy. The initial shock of seeing the kid Winchester in this weird place wore off as his body and mind slowly geared down from overdrive.

 _Sammy… Soft bed with rails, arm sling, pillows, chairs, that stupid hospital smell-_

 _Hospital._

 _J-John._

"John?" Dean looked back to the man towering over him with wide, fearful eyes. _What have I done? There's no way he'll be so nice after that hit. Just royally screwed myself. Welcome back to the real world, Dean. The one where you only ruin anything good that happens to you. The one where you deserve everything you've got coming._

"Welcome back, Dean." John smiled in relief. He actually smiled. The kid tried to hit him, succeeded in head butting him, screamed in his ear, and John still grinned at the recognition and deer-in-the-headlights look on that innocent face. "You gonna behave now?"

"Yes, sir." Dean whispered, swallowing back another wave of nausea. _Please don't leave me, please don't leave._ He was near tears, so close to begging for them to stay that he almost cried out when John let go and took a few steps back. But then Sam rushed in and hooked up the new oxygen tube like a pro.

The nurse figured Dean would try to rip the mask off again; she certainly knew her patients. So instead of another mask, she brought two tubes last time and showed Sam and John how to hook up the first one. Carefully, Sam guided the loop over Dean's head and let him put the nose part in himself before wrapping the leftover length behind Dean's ears and over the back of the pillow.

"Everything okay in here?" Nurse Millie swung the door open and glared inside at the trio all crowded around the bed.

"Yes, ma'am. Dean had a nightmare and got scared. He tore his tube again, but I got the other one all set up. He's okay now, right, Dean?" Sam said, presenting the nurse and Dean with the most convincing innocent-little-kid smile Dean had seen in a long time.

Dean didn't know how the kid, who was obviously both a teen and a _hunter_ , pulled that off.

"Yeah. P-plane crashes, y'know?" Dean said, wiping his good hand down his face and relishing in the fact that he could actually breathe again and the kid was protecting him. Someone was sticking up for him. It felt… nice. Nice to know someone had his back, even while he was practically a lump on a log.

"He didn't know where he was, or who we were when he woke up. Is that normal?" John asked, crossing the room to talk quietly with the nurse. "I mean, since I found him it's happened a time or two, but not like this. He _knew_ us earlier today."

Millie peered around John to see Sam talking quietly with Dean, who appeared to be recovering from some kind of scare. He was still flushed and shaking a little. "No, that's not normal, but it is a reported side effect of the nausea med he's on. I'll let doc know and we'll get it changed. Is he doing alright?"

"When he's fully awake, yeah. Sleeps like a rock, too, but the in-between is what gets him. He has a hard time waking up and going down. I don't know if that's the medicine or the pneumonia or just what's been happening since he ran off." John said, accidentally letting the anxiousness that plagued him seep into his tone. He'd already woven a simple tale about Dean running away after he'd said the kid couldn't get his driver's license until he was eighteen. He said Dean had been gone eight months and that he found the kid on the street just yesterday.

"Your son has had a difficult couple of months, Mr. Winchester. He's malnourished. He's sick. He's scared. I have no doubt that his combative tendencies while not fully conscious are a result of his time… away from his family. It's going to be a while before he's comfortable around you two again. Just love on him, okay? Unconditional love goes farther than you'd think in the healing process. And be patient." Millie smiled and patted John's shoulder. "I'll bring another tube and some numbers for local counselors and therapists."

"Thank you."

The nurse was right; this time, it had been the medicine he was on. Dr. Conwright stopped by towards the end of her shift and asked a few short questions about how Dean was feeling and what had happened earlier. The medicine was changed. She went home, and so did nurse Millie. Dean fell asleep in the bed, congested snores echoing through the room. He woke up every hour or two and looked around quickly, panicking until he focused on Sam, and then John. Dean didn't last more than two or three minutes before he was out again. A dim little table light was left on at all times so Dean could see them and not feel alone. John sat beside it, like he was guarding the only thing that allowed his son to find what made him feel safe.

Sam fell asleep in his chair after a painful coughing fit, propped up in a corner in what seemed like a very uncomfortable position. John thanked the night nurse, who was just as kind as Millie had been, for letting them stay together all night long.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Leave me some words. I'll see you soon...**


	13. With or Without You

**A/N: Vivi here! Surprise!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boy:_

 _Sam fell asleep in his chair after a painful coughing fit, propped up in a corner in what seemed like a very uncomfortable position. John thanked the night nurse, who was just as kind as Millie had been, for letting them stay together all night long._

* * *

The next day wasn't as exciting. Dean felt as sick as he looked; even eating what little he could hold down seemed to sap his energy for hours. The doctor said he had to eat with his pills or they wouldn't work as well. John managed to get the kid to eat some super gross, mushy oatmeal drenched in brown sugar. Only half the bowl was gone when Dean was done. At least he kept the pills down.

John and Sam left every now and then to get food or walk around outside, just to keep the blood flowing. They only left when Dean was awake, so they could tell him what was happening and he wouldn't panic. He didn't talk much, just lowered his eyes and nodded. The look on his face when they returned after the first expedition both hurt and encouraged John. It was like the kid was surprised that they came back, but then a light smile spread on his pale, freckle ridden face. Maybe it was seeing them that brought it on, or maybe it was Sam and the pie he was carrying.

Apparently Dean still loved pie.

The second day was much the same, filled mostly with snores or sounds from the old TV in the room. Every time Dean opened his eyes, it only took him a few seconds to find one of the Winchesters. He couldn't figure out why he almost cried every time he realized they were still there with him. It shouldn't be a surprise anymore; John had made a point of _repeatedly_ telling him that they weren't going anywhere outside the hospital grounds without him. John seemed like a man of his word.

By day three, Dean felt like his breath could finally reach the bottom of his lungs. It was a feeling that he hadn't had in months. The doctor cleared him to get out of bed and walk around to help strengthen his lungs, but only with adult supervision and only with his new inhaler in his pocket. He wanted so badly to tell them he _was_ an adult, he was eighteen damn it, but he'd already been filled in on what the Winchesters told the nurses. He was supposed to be John's kid, a seventeen year old, pretentious jerk who ran away from domestic paradise because he wasn't allowed to drive at sixteen. And as much as Dean wanted to be independent, he also wanted to feel supported. It was a feeling he hadn't had in… well, much longer than a few months. And if having that meant playing along with the charade, then he'd do it. For a while at least.

"Want me to push the pole?" Sam asked, coughing into his elbow. Dean looked down at the kid who hadn't left his side all day. John was off somewhere getting the three of them food, since Dean was told he couldn't go too far and the cafeteria had better food than the crap they were sending up for the patients. That left Dean and Sam to wander the halls in peace, after sneaking away from the nurses.

"Uh…" Dean almost wanted to refuse. He didn't want to be a burden to the people who were helping him- even if he still didn't know why they cared so much. But it was annoying to keep track of that thing and he'd almost pulled his IVs out more than once. "Yeah. Makes my arm hurt having to move it with the needles in, y'know? Just don't push it too far away or it'll tug." Dean made sure the tape that held his IV lines down to his arm above the entry site was tight before letting go of the pole that held his medicine bags. He almost ripped the lines out earlier when the doctor said the needles had to stay in, but a warning glare from John convinced him otherwise. So instead, he demanded something to wear other than the hospital gown with the opening in the back. If he was going mobile, then he wanted something with a little more dignity to wander around in. And he kinda needed a pocket for his weird little inhaler. He'd never had one of those before and it took a while to get used to both using it and the uncomfortable sensation that followed. He did like breathing though, and it helped a lot.

Nurse Millie, who was back that day, returned about an hour later with blue scrub pants and what seemed to be a modified scrub shirt. Looked like a tear away with all the snaps in it, but they didn't have to remove the IVs or the sling to get it on, so Dean supposed it was a good idea.

"Got it." Sam nodded, taking on a serious face as he began pushing the pole along between them. The going was slow, but they were in no hurry. Earlier, the three of them had gone as far as the next ward before John declared it was time to go back. Sam begrudgingly agreed after noticing all the huffing and puffing going on beside him. He didn't like it when Dean was hurting. It felt like he was hurting too, somehow.

"So where should we go this time?" Dean asked with a grin. "I'm thinking cafeteria."

"That's across the hospital and down a few levels, Dean. It's really far. And Dad might catch us on his way back." There was no way Sam was going to sneak Dean out of his ward only for Dad to find them, or for Dean to get sick and need help getting back. Sam wasn't sure he could do that alone. Dad would chew him out for sure if he found out about this.

"Party pooper. How about that place with all the pictures? We passed it earlier and I didn't get a good look." Sam nodded. The two of them walked across an enclosed bridge that overlooked a small garden area. The decorative trees had started losing their brown and red leaves, and the only flowers still in bloom were mums, all in bright shades of yellow or red or orange, like they were mocking the trees and their fallen foliage.

 _Looks cold._ Dean thought with a shiver running down his spine. _Probably… probably wouldn't have made it this long on my own..._

"It's just a little further. We're almost there, actually." Sam said, pausing beside Dean when he stopped to look at the flowers on the ground outside the windows.

Seeing Sam's concerned face brought Dean back to reality. "Good. Lead the way."

* * *

"Why is this person shaped like a syringe?" Dean asked, looking at a painting that hung in the hall with many other equally strange works of art.

"Uh…" Sam glanced down and read the description on a little plaque just below the frame. "Says it's to commemorate the success of vaccines."

"How'd you get that?" Dean asked, looking to Sam before following his gaze to the lengthy plaque. "Oh."

"This one says it's to inspire hope for the future." Sam said, coughing lightly before moving to the next painting.

"But it's one flower surrounded by a bunch of dead ones. That's not very hopeful."

"I'm just reading what the painter wrote about it." Sam shrugged. "It is kinda weird though."

"What's this one say?" Dean asked, turning around in the hall to take in a life sized portrait of a golden retriever with some kind of blue vest on.

"Just look at the description." Sam said, still reading the lengthy creator's note for the one with all the dead flowers.

"…okay." Dean made no effort to read the tiny words next to the picture. He wished he had when Sam joined him a few seconds later.

"Oh, a volunteer dog. What's it say about him?" Sam asked, smiling at the realistic pup.

"I don't know." Dean looked away down the hall and started to leave.

"Didn't you read it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Didn't feel like it."

"But this one is super short. 'To thank all the therapy dogs and their owners who give their time to make ours easier to bear'."

"Now I don't have to read it." Dean shot a sarcastic grin behind him as he trudged down the hall, pulling his pole with him.

"You can read, can't you?" Sam asked, jogging to catch up with him. "You went to school?"

"Yeah I can read." Dean snapped, instantly feeling guilty when Sam flinched. "I'm just not very fast is all."

"So you don't like to read?"

"No, I- I like to, but not when other people are around. Takes me forever to turn a page and I don't wanna be judged for it."

"Why are you so slow? Do you have a learning disability?" Sam asked, forever inquisitive and always a little too eager to ask questions.

"No, I'm usually quick on the uptake. I just didn't get to practice a lot."

"Did you not like to read in school?"

Dean had to resist glaring at the kid. Why was his education suddenly such a hot topic? "I was a hunter. I was hardly ever in school."

Sam's face fell into profound confusion. "Your dad didn't make you go?"

"He's not- wasn't my father. And he took me along on every hunt, no matter when or how long it was. I was eight when I went to live with… them. The age kids usually get good at reading, y'know? Well I'd never been in school at all before that. Okay, maybe a couple months of kindergarten before I- before I lost my family. But they don't expect kindergarteners to start reading. Jerold and Lucy taught me the basics so I could pass as a stupid third grader, but it was… painful. Steep learning curve. I got held back a few years, but Jerold would just move me to a different school and forge the records to move me along in my classes. So while the other kids in high school- when I could get enrolled in the grade other kids my age were in- were reading Moby Dick and Brave New World I was reading Tom Sawyer and Lord of the Flies." Sam still looked confused when Dean glanced at him. "Right. You're a middle schooler. Uh, books that are easier to read."

"Oh."

"It's not a big deal. I can read. I'm just slower than most people."

"When did you graduate?"

Again, Dean resisted glaring at Sam. "Well aren't you just a bundle of curiosity? Why do you ask so many questions, anyway?"

Sam blushed, realizing how annoying he must sound. "Sorry, I didn't mean to invade your privacy. Sometimes I get carried away."

Dean had to swallow back the sudden panic in his throat as a familiar flashback started playing. He squashed it back and stopped his hand from shaking by shoving it in the pocket of his scrubs. "Me too."

* * *

"Where were you?" John barked as the pair returned to Dean's room. They flinched in unison, avoiding eye contact and standing in the doorway like two scolded puppies. The father could see that Dean was panicking; that much was obvious from the way his free hand started shaking and his breath started to come in strained, shallow gasps. _Don't be the bad guy._ John reminded himself. "Come inside and close the door, boys."

Sam nudged Dean, who was frozen in place, deeper into the room before closing the door and facing his father. "Sorry, Dad. We just went for a walk."

"Did a nurse go with you?"

"No. We just went." Sam said as he glanced at Dean. "We looked at the pictures in the gallery hallway. By the bridge over the courtyard." Carefully, Sam moved the pole with Dean's IVs towards the bed. Dean's shaking hand had a death grip on it, so he came too.

"You know you aren't supposed to do that, Sam." John said, standing. "You feeling okay, Dean? He didn't work you too hard?"

"I'm fine." He gasped, finally sitting hard on the bed and wincing as his hip protested.

John frowned. Dean hadn't told them about the deep bruise on his hip. A nurse found it when they checked him over two days earlier. Luckily, they hadn't found anything else that was new or terrifying. "Why don't you just watch TV for a while? With your oxygen on."

"Yes sir." Dean said, hauling his legs up onto the not-so-squishy mattress. Sam handed him the goofy looking hospital remote that was attached to the wall, and John put a bag of chips in front of him, already opened and ready to go. That seemed to put the kid at ease, at least a little.

"Sam. Outside."

 _No no no they're leaving._ Dean's eyes grew wide and the sudden tension in his throat sent him into a coughing fit. He wanted to beg them to stay but they were gone before he could stop coughing long enough to say anything. _No… please don't go. Don't leave me._

"Use your inhaler, Dean." John waited until Sam joined him, closing the door behind him as Dean continued coughing. "Why did you sneak out like that? Dean could've collapsed. You put him in unnecessary danger. He could've gotten hurt, Sam."

"He really wanted to walk around and I just figured we wouldn't go very far. And we didn't, Dad. We just went down the hall a little. I promise." In his own ears, Sam sounded like a whiny little kid and it bugged him. The pitiful cough that snuck out didn't help matters. "I was with him the whole time."

"Don't do it again. You're gonna be grounded for longer now, by the way." John said sternly but quietly. There were nurses buzzing around and honestly, he didn't want Dean to hear the conversation.

"Why?"

"You did something I asked you not to and you put someone else in harm's way doing it." John sighed, pushing his anger and frustration back into the dark place it came from. "You know better."

"Whatever." Sam huffed, turning away and crossing his arms.

"Come on." John started back for the knob to Dean's door when Sam spoke up.

"Dad, wait." That caught John's attention. Usually Sam gave him the silent treatment for a few hours after these kinds of talks. "We, um, we talked about some things on the walk."

John moved to lean against the wall, facing his son. "What kinds of things?"

"He can't read, Dad." Sam said with a hint of disappointment in his tone.

John's face was colored with surprise. _Dean can't read? No one bothered to teach him how to read? Was he not put through school?_

"Well, not very good, at least. He says he just has to go super slow. That guy took him on _all_ his hunts and he hardly ever got to go to class." Sam frowned. "Why would he do that to Dean?"

John scrubbed one hand down his face and counted to ten. _If he weren't dead already I'd throttle him. Guess Dean's going to school when it starts up again. Have to put them in an actual school this time around, probably. No more homeschooling and internet classes; Dean probably wouldn't do well in those situations. Damn. That means living in one place for a few months. I'll have to get a job. Find a decent place to stay. Somewhere with no weird shit happening. Somewhere warm, so Dean can't get sick again._ "Not everyone realizes how important school is. We'll get him in class when you start again."

"Online school?" Sam asked, dreading having to spend every day all day long at random libraries for an entire year again.

"I don't think so, Sam. We'll find a place to stay for a while. I don't think Dean would do well with 'computer' school." John smiled when Sam's face lit up.

"We can stay somewhere for a while? Like more than three weeks?"

"Yeah. Probably at least half the year."

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed, practically jumping with joy.

John chuckled. "Not so loud, kid, you'll scare the nurses. Do you want to tell Dean or should I?"

Sam was already in the room before 'should I' came out of John's mouth.

"Dean, you can come to school with me." Sam said, bouncing right up to the rail on Dean's bed and grinning like a madman.

As expected, his actions- and presence- surprised Dean, who coughed a few times and tried to put his panic away. _Of course they wouldn't leave me. They- they said they wouldn't, not until I could leave on my own._ Dean swallowed hard and held back another cough as Sam's words sunk in. "What? I'm not going back to school, I'm too old." His eyes flicked to John, who'd just settled in a chair against the wall. "I'm eighteen, they'll only take me for a semester before I turn nineteen. They'll kick me out halfway through the year. And I have no way to pay for it."

"We can forge documents to say you're still a minor." John said with a lighthearted shrug. "Not a big deal." _Because I won't have to forge anything. You_ are _still a minor. I have your birth certificate to prove it._

"But school costs money. I have no money." Dean watched in confusion as John shrugged again.

"Education is important. I'll pay for it. Doesn't cost that much anyway."

"Wait. Hold on a minute." Dean held up his hand, trying to wrap his head around what the man was saying. "You'd pay for it. As in, pretend I'm your kid? What am I supposed to do when they call to talk to you or ask you to come to parent-teacher nights? What if I get in trouble and they call you to come get me?"

"I'll answer the phone. I'll go to conferences. I'll come when you call."

There were a few long moments of confused silence. "So you're gonna stick around while I go to school? Pretend to be my dad while you're hunting? I don't think that's gonna fly. I can't afford a place to stay or food even if you cover the school fees. Why do you think I'm homele-" Dean paused, wincing at his slip up. He hadn't actually admitted to being homeless before that moment, but it was too late to take it back. And in retrospect, the fact had been pretty obvious anyway. "Homeless?"

"You won't have to pay rent or buy groceries. Why would you think that?" John asked, taking his turn to be confused.

"Because I need a place to sleep and food to survive? Kind of hard to go to school when you're dead on the street."

 _He doesn't remember my offer._ John realized suddenly what the problem was. "I was serious about offering you a place with us, Dean. No strings attached. You'll have all the food, clothes, and supplies you need. You'll live with us; have your own room, if you want. You'll be part of the team."

Dean was once again speechless.

Sam coughed loudly before speaking, a smile still lighting up his face. "It'll be great, Dean. We can go hunting together, go to football games at the school, see that new movie about the war between England and Scotland- I could help you with your homework, if I understand it. I'm pretty smart." Sam hadn't lost any of his energy though the earlier exchange.

"But you hunt. Don't you, like, move around a lot?" Dean asked, surprised that John had restated his offer of safety and comfort after all Dean had put them through. There hadn't been any doubt in Dean's mind that the offer had been rescinded immediately after he threatened the kid and drove away from them at that trailhead.

"Usually, yeah. Sam goes to school online most of the time, at any library with computers. But I think it's time we slowed down a little. Took a break. We'll keep our focus on local hunts, no more than a few hours away, until this semester is over. Then we'll go from there." John watched the gears turning in Dean's head, wondering what he actually thought. "We'll play normal for a few months. Still hunt, but kinda… have a home base." _As long as it's just a few months. Can't stay too long in one place. Can't let them find Sam._

"So I'll be living with you… in a motel room, or an apartment?" Dean hesitated. "That sounds kind of permanent." _Permanent is bad. Can't stay in one place too long or Winthrop will find me. And if Winthrop finds me…_

"It's as permanent as you want it to be." John said evenly. "No strings, remember? You can go whenever you want to. The offer will always stand, no matter what. You can always come back if you change your mind."

"Are you serious?" Dean asked quietly, unable to believe what he was hearing. "This isn't a joke?"

"No joke. Never was." John grimaced a bit when Dean's face started to go pale. "We like you, Dean. We want to keep you around. As long as you'll let us."

"Yeah, Dean. It'd be cool to have somebody besides Dad to vent to. You get it, and I can talk to you easy. And you fit in already. Like we're a triangle of crazy." Sam's voice was quiet, like he was trying to draw Dean back out of his shell, clear away the fog that seemed to fill his eyes as he was obviously somewhere else.

"I… I can't."

* * *

 **A/N: Uh-oh.**

 **Leave me a review!**


	14. I'm Alright

**A/N: Vivi here! Surprise! Guess who just wrote about three chapters of this fic and was dying to post one?**

 **Yeah, it was me. Guilty. You don't have to wait until Monday. But there will be another chapter Monday, too.**

 **Themes of abuse in this chapter. Also, I drop a serious hint about our main antagonist in this chapter. If you don't find it, you didn't read the whole chapter.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"No joke. Never was." John grimaced a bit when Dean's face started to go pale. "We like you, Dean. We want to keep you around. As long as you'll let us."_

 _"Yeah, Dean. It'd be cool to have somebody besides Dad to vent to. You get it, and I can talk to you easy. And you fit in already. Like we're a triangle of crazy." Sam's voice was quiet, like he was trying to draw Dean back out of his shell, clear away the fog that seemed to fill his eyes as he was obviously somewhere else._

 _"I… I can't."_

* * *

Dean blinked hard, trying to clear the vivid memory of blood and pain and numbness from his mind. He rubbed at his eyes when they started to water. _I want to. I want to be safe. But it would put them at risk and really, I wouldn't be safe. Not from him. Not once he catches wind of where I am. He'll come. He always comes._

John couldn't breathe for a few seconds. He'd been so sure that Dean would take his offer in a heartbeat this time around. "Why not? What don't you like about the offer?"

Dean sniffed his suddenly runny nose, only to get a stern look from Sam, who shoved a box of tissues into his hands. "'Better out than in', right?" Dean quoted Sam's earlier words as he used blowing his nose for an excuse to not talk for a good long while. Not long enough though. "It sounds really nice, don't get me wrong. I just… I can't." _The less you know, the safer you'll be._

"Why can't you?" John asked, starting to get frustrated. "I need a reason. An actual reason."

 _Why is he getting aggressive about this? If I don't go with them they'll save so much money. They won't have to deal with me. Why does he want me to go with them so bad?_ "I can't tell you." Dean glared at John and it felt like daggers in the father's heart.

"Is it super top secret?" Sam asked, trying to play the innocent little kid to get Dean to put his walls back down. He was hiding behind them again, and if Dad could only get a clear shot at him, he knew Dad could convince Dean to come with them and not die in the street over the coming winter.

Dean looked at Sam, caught off guard. "Y-yeah."

"Remember, you can leave whenever you want. We aren't going to hold you against your will, if you're worried about that. You can even have your own room if you want. I know you like to go with the wind and I won't try to hunt you if you leave, but please consider my offer. You'll be safer with us, Dean." John said gently, forcing his frustration aside. "We'll find a place with nothing weird going on, use different names- Money really won't be a problem. I'll get a job and that will be enough to cover monthly payments on a credit card until we're ready to leave."

"And then you'll just stop paying." Dean filled in the rest of the plan, already knowing and accepting what would happen. Jerold did the same kind of things. He didn't see an issue with it.

"Money won't be a problem." John repeated. "So if you're worried about that, don't be. You'll help us out, and we'll help you out. Two way street, son."

 _There it is again._ Dean glanced up at the term of endearment. _Maybe he wants me to be a part of the family. Who the hell would adopt an eighteen year old stranger? He won't want to when he realizes I'm not family material. I can't wreck their perfect little lives. That's not going to happen. Can't get that close. But if I can leave whenever I want…_ "It's not about the money. Well, partly, but not mostly."

"It'll be nice having you with us, Dean." Sam said, finally losing some of his enthusiasm. "You wouldn't be a burden, if that's what this is about. You haven't been any trouble yet and I don't think that'll change."

"We won't pry into your life, but we'll listen if you tell us. And- and using different names will keep your past from catching up with you." John offered, dropping his voice so no passing nurse could hear through the door. "I don't know what you've done, or what's been done to you, but we'll lay low. And if anyone shows up and gives you shit, I'll rip their lungs out."

Sam chuckled quietly at the threat- this wasn't the first time he'd heard it, and he had seen it carried out in person, not on a human, though, of course - but John's face was dead serious.

Dean's eyes grew wide. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" _No one is that protective of strangers. Especially not sickly homeless strangers with nothing to offer._

"We protect our friends." Sam said, as if it were the simplest concept in the world. "You mess with them, you mess with us. And we have guns."

"That's right, Sammy." John tousled the kid's hair before he could duck.

"Dad, quit it. And my name's Sam." Even so, Sammy couldn't help but smile at the show of affection.

"Hold up. I'm a friend? Since when did that happen? I've only known you people for like a week." What had been a small bloating feeling in his belly was becoming more like battery acid by the second. Dean tried to ignore it, wanting to hear what they had to say.

John was acutely aware of the sudden flush in Dean's face and neck. Being a father, he had seen that particular sign many times before when Sam didn't feel well. _He's going to be sick soon. Gotta hurry this up._ Discreetly, he reached for the little blue bags that sat on the nightstand. "Didn't take long to win us over, huh? You must be a real charmer." John smiled, trying to put his son at ease.

"You really want to waste your resources on me?" Dean asked, ignoring John's words and the way his stomach rolled and clenched every few seconds. He'd walked for too long, used up too much energy, sloshed things around in there too much. This conversation wasn't helping either.

"It's not a waste if you benefit from it, Dean." John said, handing him the little blue bag when he saw him swallow back a gag.

 _Maybe they can keep me safe. For a few months, at least. Winthrop hasn't found me in-_ The blue bag soon became a full blue bag. "I don't feel so good." Dean muttered, bowing his head and focusing on breathing. _It's been two years since I saw that bastard. Maybe he's finally going to forget about me._

Dean didn't flinch when John rested his hand on the kid's forehead. His son just closed his eyes and let his pained face relax a little. The inner father was celebrating like he'd just won the lottery, but the external John sported a frown. "Still got that fever, I see. Give me that." He took the bag and tied it before tossing it in an orange trash bin marked 'biohazard'. It was replaced quickly, just in case. "Why don't you think about it some more? We'll talk again tomorrow and you can decide when you get discharged. Sound like a deal?" The most John expected out of the slightly green kid was a solid nod.

Needless to say, he got more than he expected. "I wanna stay with you and Sam. Please. Sir." Dean looked up at John with pleading eyes as if John himself had been the one resisting the deal.

John was shocked into silence, but quickly snapped out of it when he saw those green eyes get glassy again. _No more tears, son. Not for a long time now._ "Yeah, yeah, of course." John smiled the most he'd smiled in weeks. "This is great, Dean. We'll get you all set up after you get out of here and then we'll start looking for a place. School will be starting soon-"

"Real school already started, Dad." Sam interjected, crossing his arms. "They start up in August, usually. We'll be two months behind already."

 _Shit. Why didn't I remember that? Probably because online school is a little more lenient about starting dates. Sam just finished like five weeks ago._ "Not a problem, at least from an enrollment perspective. We'll see how you two handle it, okay? Online school is always an option, even if it is more effort than the classroom."

"You're still gonna let me go to school?" Dean asked softly. For the first time in a long time, he sounded hopeful.

"Kiddo, I'm gonna _make_ you go to school."

* * *

The next day, in the evening, Dean was released. He'd spent most of the day and the previous night sleeping; the new nausea medication they put him on after his outburst was pretty strong and it knocked him out like he was a lightweight. As much as Dean hated to admit it, he kinda was at that point. At least the powerful antibiotic he had didn't make him throw up anymore. The oxygen he used while in the room was tapered and removed in the late afternoon, and he passed the test the pulmonologist gave him. It was easy really; he just had to blow into a cylinder and keep a little ball afloat for a few seconds. He was transitioned from the hospital grade medications to the prescription strength ones slowly over the course of the day so his system could adjust. By evening, he was fully awake, though his eyelids still drooped.

He'd had a long day of healing.

"Just gotta let the nurse give you a once-over and we're free to go." John grinned despite the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't showered since they arrived. The nurse had looked the other way and allowed Sam to use the shower in the bathroom connected to Dean's room, even though it was 'strictly for patients'. John hadn't wanted to risk getting kicked out.

Tonight was going to go well. John thought if he told himself enough times, it would be true. _Tonight will go off without a hitch. No running, no suffocating, no fighting, no problems whatsoever._

"Can't we go now? I'm tired of all the white wallpaper. Bugs my eyes." Dean grumbled, picking at a thread in his scrub pants. He and Sam were sat on the bed, just swinging their legs as they waited for the nurse to come. Dean had a new kind of warmth in his chest. He didn't think it was a side effect of the meds, or the pneumonia. He thought maybe this was what relaxing felt like. Or maybe it was hope. For once in his life, he knew he would be okay and unharmed for the rest of the day. John and Sam would help him if he needed it and take him whenever they decided to move on. Dean would've been skeptical had they not just spent a few days with him in the hospital, hardly leaving his side.

"We'll go as soon as the nurse says we can. She's got your prescription papers, remember?" John said, trying to sound calm and even when his heart was pounding and every bad outcome was running through his mind _. Dean might run. Dean might hate us and leave. Dean might take a turn for the worse tonight and need to be hospitalized for a few more days. Then again… Dean might let us take care of him until he's healed. Dean might feel safer with us around. Dean might actually want to stay for a while. Dean might want to stay forever._

"Hi fellas. How're you feeling, Dean?" The nurse from the other night, Alisha, popped through the door all smiles and sunshine, as always.

"Like I'm ready to leave." He said quietly, tugging at the string that refused to come loose.

"I've just got a few boxes to check, so bear with me." Alisha rattled off a slew of questions about Dean's health, all of which Dean answered without hesitation, eager for the process to be over. "Let's take a look at you then." She took her stethoscope and listened to Dean's heart, then his lungs, then his belly. "Looks like these cuts are almost totally healed. You'll be more careful climbing trees from now on, won't you?" She winked at him and Dean just nodded, feeling a flush come over his cheeks.

 _I'll be asking John what the hell a wendigo is, that's for sure._

"How's the arm? Will he still need the sling?" John asked from the foot of the bed where he'd been watching the whole thing transpire while secretly gauging how Sam was doing with the sudden change in companionship. He seemed fine for now.

"Let's check." She lifted Dean's arm rather quickly, not suddenly, and even then he almost screamed, strangling the outburst down to a loud whimper just in time. "I'd say yes. Probably for at least three more weeks. Preferably five. His tendons and muscles still feel inflamed." The nurse sent a pointed warning glare at Dean. "If he doesn't keep it on, he won't regain full range of motion and he might tear a muscle and have to be in a _plaster cast_ for a long while."

Dean shuddered at the thought. It was just the reaction Alisha was looking for.

"Got it." John let the woman finish checking over his son, only frowning once at the big greenish bluish bruise still splayed across his back.

"Looks like you're healing nicely, Dean. Now I've just got a few oral instructions to go over with you before you're finally free."

"Shoot." Dean sat forward attentively, wishing to put this whole experience behind him.

"First of all, don't neglect those cuts. They're looking good so far, but they can still get infected. Second, use warm compresses to get that bruise on your back to go away. It might leave some permanent discoloration, but that's normal. Third, no more headshots. I mean it. You had a pretty nasty concussion and until that heals, you are at a much higher risk of brain damage or death if you get hit again. Clear?" Alisha waited for all three of them to nod before she continued. "Fourth- yes I know the list is long, I have to do it every day- wear your sling. Everywhere. Even at night. It's your best friend if you ever want to use that arm again like you did before. Fifth, take all your antibiotics even if you start feeling better before they're done. Finish _both_ of them; you have two different infections, remember? Pneumonia can creep back up on you if you don't get it all the first time. I know you might not want to use your inhaler, but if you need to, there's no shame in it. For some reason teenagers just don't like inhalers. I don't get it. Sixth, do those breathing exercises the pulmonologist gave you."

"I've got the instruction sheet and the… tube thing." John said, motioning to a clear bag filled with paperwork and other odds and ends that were to go home with Dean upon discharge. _To go home._

"Good. Do those exercises, Dean, so your lungs get strong again. Even if you hate doing them. Even if you think they're silly. Just do them. You'll be glad you did when you can jog and play sports again. Seventh, eat some food, son. You're too thin for our liking, and your BMI is pretty well into the underweight category. You need to put on some muscle _and_ fat so your body can function properly. And drink lots of water. Your kidneys will love you for it." Alisha winked at him again before turning to the group. "Any questions?"

"When can he go back to doing things? Like everyday things. Walking around school or a store, swimming, sleeping flat?" John asked. He hated that he didn't know the answers to those questions, but what better time to ask?

"He'll need to take it easy for about another week. No long walks on the beach for you, I'm afraid." She smiled softly at Dean before returning to John. "Short shopping trips are okay, as long as someone is with him. I wouldn't go swimming at all in the foreseeable future. His shoulder is going to be out of commission for a long time, sling or not. And you asked about sleep, right?"

"Yes."

"Until he stops coughing and all the antibiotics are gone _and_ he feels like he can breathe laying flat for an hour or so, he should be propped up at night. What else do you want to know?"

"I think we're good here." John lied with a charming smile.

"Excellent. I just need the doctor to sign off on these discharge orders and you can head out." Alisha left the room. John pretended to think of one more question and he followed her out, closing the door behind him. He waited until the nurse was down the hall a ways before calling to her.

"Miss? I have one more question. I'm sorry." John ran to catch up with her when she turned.

"What is it?" She asked, listening patiently.

"Did you… was there any permanent damage that you saw, not from the tree or the pneumonia, that could have happened while he was away? I- I don't know where he was, and he won't tell me. I'm afraid of what could have happened to him while I wasn't there." _I wasn't there for him for twelve years. Please tell me he's okay._

"Mr. Winchester, your son is covered in little scars, but they look pretty old. He was an active child, I take it?"

John nodded, knowing that Dean had been trained and pushed his whole life, like it or not.

"Well, aside from some weird scars on his arms and some bumps on his ribs- I'm guessing he's broken ribs before?"

"Football." John shrugged helplessly, trying to make it seem convincing.

"Aside from those, the only out of place thing I found was some scarification on the back of his shoulder."

"Scarification? Like someone cut him to make some kind of pattern with scars? Someone cut my son?!" John asked, his voice rising unconsciously.

"Mr. Winchester, please quiet down. You'll scare the patients and I'll have to ask you to leave. Unfortunately, yes, someone cut your son, but I'm not sure it was done maliciously. There are letters spelled out."

"Why wouldn't that be malicious?" John growled, struggling to contain himself knowing that someone – possibly that ass Jerry- had cut his son to make their mark on him.

"It spells W-I-N. Now, tattooing a name is much more common, but it is possible that your son wanted those letters. WIN, Winchester? You follow me?" Alisha asked quietly.

John shook his head. _He didn't know his name at all, much less long enough to do that._ "He'd never do something like that. Tattoo, maybe, but not that."

"Try to ask him about it and if he doesn't talk, I'd think about getting the police involved. Involuntary scarification is assault at the very least." She paused, allowing time for John to speak if he wanted to. "Anything else?"

"No. Thank you." John turned and stalked back to Dean's room, schooling his features to hide his growing anger from his little boys.

"So can I go yet?" Dean asked, eyes hopeful.

"I need your discharge papers, kid, and the prescriptions. Just sit tight for a while. Watch TV." John said. "And lean forward. I want to check that bruise one more time. Thought I saw something."

"Uh, okay." Dean leaned forward and lifted the hem of a shirt that the Winchesters happened to have in the car. He was a little hesitant to do so, and everything he'd trained himself to do told him not to, but he was starting to trust John. Just a little. Just enough.

"It was by your neck." John said, waiting until Dean let the hem down to draw the collar of his shirt away from his skin, being _very_ careful not to put pressure on the kid's neck or strangle him.

Sure enough, there it was. WIN in crude, irregular, capital letters across the back of his son's trapezius. Rage burned hot in John's chest. He let the collar go and walked right out of the room, through the hall, down the stairs, and out to his car where he could shout and curse and let all the steam out before his boys needed him again. _This is MY FAULT-_

Dean and Sam exchanged a nervous look when John left without closing the door. _Maybe I got myself into something I shouldn't have._ Then a single, fleeting thought lit his mind on fire. _Wait… did he see it? Hadn't he seen it before? The scars? The brand? I mean, they've healed and faded over the years, but still. What if he knows Winthrop? What if they work together and this is a trap?_

 _But he just stormed out of here. If he was going to tell someone where I was, he would've been more discreet about it so I wouldn't run. Is he actually upset that I have scars? I know they're ugly, but they've never held me back or caused me any trouble. Not since I got out of that nest a few years back, and that group of hunters took all of them down before they dropped me back at Jerold's house. I thought they were the last ones working with Winthrop. What if I was wrong?_

"He gets like this sometimes. Best just to step aside and let him have his space." Sam murmured, frowning at the floor. "Sorry." He coughed hard and winced at the pain in his throat before trying to breathe through his nose. He'd already been through most of Dean's tissues. Luckily the nurses kept bringing more.

"Why are _you_ sorry?" Dean asked, caught off guard by Sam's sullen tone.

"I think I aggravate him more than I help him most of the time. We butt heads a lot. He likes to be a jerk about a lot of things and I get… stubborn. I don't like to drop things when he decides he's done with the topic. He gets mad and leaves like that sometimes when we argue." Sam shrugged. "He's probably mad about earlier. It's my fault."

Dean shook his head and nudged his good shoulder into Sam's. "No, kid. I don't think it's you. It's me. He, uh, he saw some scars, I think, and he's mad about those. Nothing to do with you."

Dean wouldn't meet Sam's eyes. "Why would Dad be mad about scars? That makes no sense. He's got a ton of 'em and I have plenty too. It's not like they're a problem."

"It- it's more than that, okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They're times that I failed. They make me feel weak when I look at them. He probably sees 'em like that too. I got them like thirteen years ago. I couldn't protect myself." Dean said, sitting on his good hand when it started to tremble against his will. "I couldn't save my- …I couldn't protect anyone."

"Thirteen years ago? You were little then. Why would you have to protect anyone? Adults should have been protecting _you_." Sam said, struggling to comprehend Dean's train of thought.

"Usually my-" Dean swallowed hard and resisted the urge to cough. "Usually my Dad would have been around but he wasn't that time." When Sam just kept looking at Dean and refused to speak, Dean sighed. "They're puncture wounds." His voice was little more than a whisper.

"Dean…?" Sam's eyes grew wide. The new information hit him like a truck. _Why does Dean have puncture wounds on his neck? What the hell happened?_

The older of the two sniffed his nose and shrugged. "I don't think that's what made John leave, though. He's probably seen those marks before, or ones like 'em."

"Wha- what could be worse than that? He'd be furious if it were me in your place. He'd kill whoever did that, maybe even torture them, and we'd have to skip town fast. Dad's super protective; it's kinda sobering, sometimes. Like two years ago, this drunk guy at a bar slapped me- I don't even remember why- and Dad almost killed him. He wasn't even drunk. Honestly, Dean, I think those marks would have been enough to make him have to go outside for a while and cool off. It couldn't have been anything that you did that pissed him off like that." Sam ended his small rant when Dean tugged down the collar of his shirt.

There were little ridges on the outline of his trap muscle. Sam could barely tell that they were supposed to be letters. _W… I-N. Win?_ "What's that from?" As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Sam wished he could've taken them back.

"The vampire who claimed me."

* * *

 **A/N: Leave me words! Tell me your thoughts, your questions, your predictions...**

 **See you Monday!**


	15. Wild Horses

**A/N: Vivi here! I've got the next chapter for you...**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _There were little ridges on the outline of his trap muscle. Sam could barely tell that they were supposed to be letters. W… I-N. Win? "What's that from?" As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Sam wished he could've taken them back._

 _"The vampire who claimed me."_

* * *

With the discharge papers signed and several prescriptions pushed into John's already full paperwork bag, the tiny troupe was finally allowed to leave the hospital as a whole. Dean was pouting slightly in a wheelchair pushed by a very proud looking Sam. The older boy had forced the younger to swear he wouldn't tell John about the vampire. Dean never meant to say so much and he didn't want them finding out about Winthrop. As expected, Sam wasn't thrilled about keeping information from his father, which was the reason he was _still_ grounded, but he agreed pretty quickly. That information was Dean's to share or withhold. Not Sam's.

"We'll drop those off at a pharmacy and then hit the store." John said as both boys settled into the back seat after John ran the wheelchair back to the hospital lobby. "Sound like a plan?"

"Why are we going to the store?" Dean asked, his voice betraying just how unsure and timid he felt now that he was outside the hospital. They didn't need to take care of him anymore or keep up the charade. Technically, he could survive on his own now and they shouldn't feel guilty leaving him to fend for himself. That's how they found him, after all. But… John didn't mention the marks, or his outburst, or the hospital costs, or even their deal. He just walked to the trunk and returned with an old, gray, woolly blanket, which he promptly shoved into the backseat. Dean could see his breath in the car. He wasn't sure anyone else had noticed how cold it was, but he was already shivering. The blanket was even colder than the air at first, but within seconds it began reflecting heat back to him from where it sat balled up between he and Sam.

Sam took the liberty of spreading the blanket out, taking some for himself but splaying most of it over Dean. He didn't want Dean to feel singled out; he might push the blanket away if he was only one using it. Of course, Sam knew the blanket was for Dean; Dad rarely took it out, even for the coldest mornings in the car. Unless Sam was sick. Then it was constantly around him.

Sam coughed lightly into his elbow before he could stop it.

Dean felt more at ease using the blanket when he noticed that Sam was using it too. It was strange to feel cared for like this. Strange to have someone notice your discomfort and actually do something about it. For someone to seek you out when you were in trouble, get you help when you couldn't on your own, and stay with you through the panic and the pain. Already the Winchesters were proving to be the family Dean wished he could find. That was, if his Dad still walked the earth, and wanted him back after Dean had killed his own brother.

"You can't wear scrubs and sweats for the rest of your life." John said as the engine roared into action. "Buckle up. We're not coming back here for a long time, you got that?"

"Yes, sir." Dean scrambled to get the seatbelt in place under the blanket, not wanting to anger the man.

They pulled out onto the road a few moments later, heading towards the nearest shopping center with a pharmacy. John had taken the time to find just the right one on a little tourist map he found in the lobby at the hospital. "At minimum, you'll need shoes, a coat- a _warm, waterproof_ coat-, a couple pairs of jeans, shirts, socks, underwear, and a haircut. Think you can handle all that in one trip, or should we come back tomorrow, too? Split the effort over a couple days?" John asked, watching his boys in the rearview mirror. Dean seemed nervous; hands hidden in the blanket, legs together, head down, breathing slow and even like it was forced. Sam was his usual self, staring out the window, passively taking in his surroundings. John frowned; the last thing he wanted was for Dean to get worse because he'd been pushed too far in one day. Having some possessions that he liked would probably convince him to stay, too, so John didn't want to just go out and buy stuff to bring back. But if Dean didn't want to go with them to the store, there wasn't much he could do about it. He would just have to hope for the best.

"I can handle it." Dean said after a few seconds, surprising John. "Sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir'." John smirked. "Makes me sound old."

"So… what should I call you, then?" Dean asked, taking the risk of looking up at John. He was surprised to see the laidback gleam in the man's eyes and the genuine smile on his face as he returned Dean's gaze before he focusing his attention back on the road.

"You can call me John… or if you'd rather, since you'll be 'pretending' to be my son from now on, you could call me Dad." John said, noticing the way Sam looked up at the offer. He didn't seem offended, or surprised, even. He just kind of glanced at Dean and popped a tiny smile before looking back out the window.

 _Just like having a big brother._

"I- I, uh… Are you sure? If this deal is temporary, I don't want to get in deeper than I can handle." Dean stammered, shocked that John would make such an offer. No one had let him call them that since his real Dad, like thirteen years ago. Jerold hit him the first couple times he let the title slip out and after that, he floored him. The slips stopped real quick after that. And now John was just offering like it was nothing. Like the title held no meaning at all.

"Who says it's temporary?" Sam asked, turning away from his window to look at Dean. There was actual confusion in his tone.

"You can stay as long as you want, Dean." John said as he wove through the traffic on his way to Main St. "We won't tell you to leave."

"What?" Dean breathed, a whole new level of shock washing over him. "What kind of deal is this? I don't have to stay, or do like anything, and can leave whenever I want, but you can't tell me to go and you have to pay for everything? And you want me to call you Dad? The hell's goin' on?" _Too good to be true. I knew it. I can get away at the shopping center, it'll be easy to lose them there._ "This isn't an adoption. It's a work contract, right?"

"Dean, I want to be very clear on one thing. You have to pull your weight, the same as me or Sam. We'll provide everything you need and treat you like family as long as you help us out and treat us the same way. No free passes. No handouts. If you stop contributing, you'll stop receiving." _As if._ John frowned momentarily at his lie. He'd give Dean whatever he needed, no matter what. He was just hoping that setting a few 'conditions' would help Dean settle into this new way of life. "As long as you keep that in mind, you can stay."

 _Maybe… maybe not too good to be true. This could work out. Please please please let it work out._ "Okay. But I'm not calling you Dad. In public, maybe, when I have to, but not when we're alone."

 _We'll work on that._ "Deal."

The conversation ended just as they pulled up to the shopping center. "I'll go drop these prescriptions over at that pharmacy." John motioned to a little storefront down a few hundred feet from where they were parked. "You two head into that store and start pulling clothes, alright? I don't want to be out longer than we have to be."

"Okay." Sam hopped- literally hopped- out of the car and kept Dean's pace as they strolled toward the store with apparently fashionable mannequins in the window.

All of a sudden, John's chest clenched up. _The last time I left them-_

John closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. _They're older now. They will be okay. I won't make the same mistake twice._

Even so, he ran to the pharmacy, rushed the clerk, and ran back to the store, desperate to see his boys safe and unharmed.

And they were. John snorted a laugh when he saw Sam and Dean tugging jeans off of the same rack, Sam showing Dean one style and getting shot down, then another and winning a timid nod as Dean himself tossed a pair into their relatively empty shopping cart.

"Having fun?" John asked with a lighthearted grin as he approached the pair.

"If shopping is considered fun, then yes." Sam said, grimacing at a pair of jeans with jewels glued to the pockets.

"I don't want to be blunt, but, uh… how much am I allowed to spend? These clothes are kind of expensive." Dean frowned and held up a price tag. Jeans. For six dollars.

"Why don't you get four or five pairs that fit you well." John said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "We can't have too much clothing or it won't all fit in the trunk. We can get more when we find a place."

"Four or five?" Dean asked with a genuine smile.

"Can't have you walking around in stained jeans all the time, can we? We don't wash clothes all that often."

"Four pair." Dean whispered to himself, rolling his thumb over the fabric in front of him.

Shopping went by fast. He got four pairs of jeans, one pair of gray sweatpants, one pair of flannel PJ pants, two packs of four standard, gray shirts, eight or so shirts with a print or an image on them, two packs of underwear and two of socks, a few long sleeved button up shirts, a winter hat and gloves, and the softest, thickest coat Dean thought he'd ever seen.

"Oh- shoes." Sam stopped them as they went for the register, pulling back on the cart, which he was in charge of.

"Right. Good catch, Sam." John said, pushing the cart around and steering Sam in the right direction. The kid started up a coughing fit as he moved the cart again.

"Shoes? But my sneakers are fine. You're gonna spend a lot anyway; I don't need shoes." Dean protested, lingering in the aisle.

"Shoes and boots." John replied as he and Sam walked away. "C'mon, kiddo. I don't know your size."

* * *

Dean stared into the cart as they stood in line, shifting nervously back and forth as he tried to comprehend all he was being given. Black combat boots. Gray sneakers with no holes in them. Both in his actual size so they probably wouldn't hurt his feet. More clothes than Dean had ever had in his life. "Are you sure about this?" He asked quietly, looking nervously from the pile of clothes to John. "This is a lot."

"I'm sure." John said casually but firmly, leaving no room for discussion as he lazily surveyed the store around them. Probably keeping an eye out for danger. It was a habit that Dean had developed as well.

A ball of nervous energy, Dean just chewed on his lip and chose to watch Sam, who was browsing the munchies that lined the checkout lane. Sam had gotten some clothes too. A new hoodie to replace the one Dean ruined. A coat kind of like the one Dean chose. New sweats, since the nurses just cut Sam's old ones off of Dean in the hospital while searching for other injuries. He even got a pair of shoes. Apparently his were getting too small and making his feet hurt. John just nodded and mumbled something like 'just about that time' and 'goes through 'em like candy'.

John, feeling particularly generous that night, told the boys to pick a treat for the ride back. Once they checked out, he had the boys- Sam mostly- load the car while he ran and picked up the prescriptions and some hygiene necessities too. He would never understand why these weird pharmacies sold cigarettes and junk food alongside smoking cessation aids and diabetic supplies. Tonight, he was just glad they also sold toiletries.

Back at the motel, Dean still hadn't touched his Snickers. He had a serious case of sticker shock. They'd spent over a hundred dollars on all that stuff. It would have taken him _weeks_ to get that much, unless he did something he'd regret. And he promised himself he'd never do that again.

"You feelin' okay, kid?" John asked, diligently taking all the tags and stickers off of the clothes so they could be washed soon. He'd been watching Dean out of the corner of his eye since they got back. Something was wrong with him. He was pale, nervous, and hadn't said a word since that checkout line.

"Yes, sir." Dean said as he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor beyond his hand which was nervously tapping at his knee.

"You don't look okay. What's goin' on?"

Dean looked up. Whenever he used to tell Jerold that he was okay, the man just left him alone. He knew how much Jerold hated patching him up; the man let him know every time Dean had an injury he couldn't address himself. Dean could be very obviously bleeding out, but if he said he was okay, Jerold would walk away. No one asked him about his welfare twice in a row. Not before the Winchesters. "Jus'… not used to this." He said quietly.

"Must seem like a pretty high price tag, huh?"

"Yeah." His voice was little more than a breath.

"That was a discount store, Dean. Those clothes normally go for fifty dollars or more. Stores like that sell the clothes other stores couldn't get out the door. Like those jeans with the sparkles on 'em." John pretended to shiver as he searched a plain pair of jeans for the tag he _knew_ was there somewhere. "We don't spend big bucks on clothes. Not when we wreck 'em all the time."

"You spent like a hundred dollars." Dean said, turning to really look at the man as he sat at the table, picking over the clothes. "That's 'big bucks' to me."

"You needed new clothes. Better to pay a few dollars and be able to breathe than having to smell those scrubs all the time. Can't have you out hunting in the woods in bright blue pants, either."

Dean looked down at himself. The scrub pants were indeed bright blue. A very obvious bright blue. And they did kind of smell. He'd been wearing them for a while now, after all. "Sorry about the smell."

"Not your fault." John finally finished with the new clothes and tossed them all into the laundry duffel. "When Sam's done, you should shower. Get you feeling a little better before bed. Get the blood flowing to those injuries."

"Yes sir."

John rolled his eyes as he went to where he'd dropped the flimsy plastic bag from the pharmacy. "What did I tell you?"

"T-to shower?" Dean stammered, his voice sounding uncharacteristically small. _He wouldn't- he's not like that._ There was nothing between Dean and the door; he'd sat that way purposefully. _John's nice, and Sam's here. He wouldn't let anything like that happen to anyone, right? Even me._ Still, Dean's hand started to tremble and he glanced nervously at the big man watching him. _I can make it out if he starts anything. Might freeze to death once I get away, but at least_ that _won't happen._

 _Why's he so jumpy all of a sudden? Oh. Right. That._ John was careful to soften his voice and hopefully calm the poor kid down. "Call me John. Or Dad. Take your pick." The antibiotics, inhaler, and painkillers from the pharmacy bag were set aside on the table, destined to join Sam's meds in the glovebox of the Impala the next day. At least until Dean needed to take the inhaler with him. John made a mental note to put the old inhaler in the pocket of his own jacket, just in case.

"Okay." _They're nice. They wouldn't do that. They wouldn't let that happen to me._ Dean's hands fell still once more and he felt a little rush of adrenaline leave his body. He was borderline exhausted; thinking about getting another full night of safe sleep, even after all the ones in the woods and hospital, was exhilarating. He'd never been more excited to pass out.

"Now don't clam up on me again. I won't snap at you. I don't bite. Here." John handed the bag to Dean, who held it away from his body like it was from outer space. "We don't share toothbrushes."

Dean just blinked at him a few times before hesitantly peering into the bag. John sat back at the table in the room and opened his journal, trying to be inconspicuous as he watched his son's face light up.

"Thanks, sir- uh, John." Dean said, finally starting to sound more like himself. _Haven't had a toothbrush in months. Toothpaste, deodorant, comb, razor, soap, washcloth, even a bag to put it all in._ He wasn't sure why, but the simple sight of that navy blue toothbrush almost brought him to tears. Again. _What did I do to deserve all this? What the hell does he see in me?_

As soon as Sam was out of the bathroom, Dean was in, taking the whole bag with him.

You never really appreciate being clean- all over clean- until you haven't been able to bathe for weeks at a time. Dean stood under the steaming water for what seemed like twenty minutes before actually using his soap. And he only did that because his loose, unsupported shoulder was starting to throb without the sling, which he wasn't going to wear in the shower. By the time he finished and stepped out, he felt like a whole new person. _So my hair_ is _still kinda blond._ Dean grinned at the mirror, and for once, a boy who looked his age grinned back.

"You allergic to any detergents?" Dean jumped when the gruff voice came under the door.

"No, I don't think so. But I mostly just washed my clothes with a bar of soap." Dean said, realizing that he hadn't brought any clothes with him into the bathroom. "I- I really wouldn't know."

It took a lot for John not to outright curse Jerry for the nightmare of a childhood he must have put Dean through, but somehow he managed to keep his voice calm. "Alright. I put some clothes outside the door here. No rush."

Sam was asleep when Dean eventually emerged. This time, Dean didn't jump when John spoke; probably because the man's voice was so soft. Like he didn't want to wake his kid. "You get enough for dinner?" He was still sitting at the table, still scribbling in his journal.

Dean looked away, pretending to not be worried about the question. Truth be told, his stomach was knotting itself up, hating the emptiness it felt after so many days of being filled regularly. He'd skipped dinner when the Winchesters went to the cafeteria earlier. At the time, he just hadn't felt well enough to eat it. That medicine did a number on his stomach and he wasn't sure anything he ate would stay down. But now, he felt fine. Except that he didn't want to make John think he had to feed him when he should have already eaten the free food available to him, paid for by insurance. "Yes."

"Good. Then you'll be able to take your meds." John motioned for Dean to come closer. He shook one of each pill- two antibiotic tabs and one painkiller- into the kid's hand before opening a bottle of water for him. "Think you have enough still in there to keep these from upsetting your stomach?"

"Yes." Dean said, just a little too quickly, downing the pills and half the bottle of water in a matter of seconds.

John watched with a frown. "Y'know, water won't keep your pills down if there's no food in there." The response he got, a not so subtle widening of Dean's eyes, told him all he needed to know. "I'll get an MRE from the car." With that, John stood and grabbed the keys.

Dean's cheeks flushed, embarrassment making itself perfectly evident as he struggled for something to say when John returned. Anything to make John think he hadn't lied to him. Anything to stay here.

John came back too soon.

Then Dean's stomach growled, low and loud. "I'm sorry." It was all he could think of.

"You don't have to lie to me, Dean. I have your best interests in mind. Remember that."

A few minutes later, John showered, letting Dean have a little quiet time to eat and sift through the pent up emotions of the day. Being a father, he knew how much stronger every emotion felt when a kid was sick, and he _knew_ Dean was stretched thin already. Poor kid almost shed a tear over a toothbrush.

Dean was asleep on his bed when John came out, not ten minutes later. The remnants of the MRE lay in the trash can, all edible components completely gone, save the tea packet. John made sure Dean was propped up well enough to breathe before turning in himself, flicking the light off and trying not to wake Sam in the process.

* * *

 **A/N: Leave me some words! This is a big day for me. I wrapped up my longest fic to date: Family Practice. That's right, it's complete. I'm starting a couple more fics pretty soon, so, y'know, if you like my writing, follow and favorite me down by that review box to stay in touch...**


	16. Roll With It

**A/N: Vivi here! It's a day early because I'm going to be too busy to post tomorrow. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John made sure Dean was propped up well enough to breathe before turning in himself, flicking the light off and trying not to wake Sam in the process._

* * *

John woke up early the next morning. For a while, he just laid there, listening to the soft snores, the quiet breaths, the total lack of wheezing. For the first time in twelve years, both his boys were under the same roof, relatively healthy and at peace. He had always hoped for this day but in the back of his mind, he never thought it would come.

Yet here it was.

And he would even get to keep it that way, if he played his cards right.

Before they woke up, John packed the car with everything but what the boys would need to get ready. If they were going to move south today, John wanted to be at least halfway there before sundown. He would need a few days to find a place to stay, a school for the boys, and work for himself. Having that extra evening would give him time to gather information that he could use in his searches.

Dean had other plans. "We can't go yet." He pleaded, feeling uneasy about opposing John when he was wearing the clothes that the man had provided and eating the food he purchased.

"Why not?" Sam asked from the seat across from Dean at the little table. They were having breakfast, which was, of course, some MREs. John hadn't wanted to leave to get something better and he didn't want to stop on the way any more than necessary.

"I- I need some things from my car." Dean said, his face and neck flushing red from the anxiety of making a request that would postpone their departure by an hour or so. It was bad enough that they had to suffer through the hospital stay with him, but now he was demanding to go back to his beater car? Dean half expected them to tell him to leave or choose between them and the car. That last one would be a hard decision, considering what was inside.

"What things?" John asked, halfway through his first cup of coffee. By that point, he could concentrate enough to not snap at the boys or slip up in his charade. Not that it was easy; he needed at least two cups to get anything significant done in the morning.

"Uh…" Dean stalled. _Something valuable, something they would actually go back for._ "M-my weapons."

 _Weapons? I don't think that's really what's going on._ John held Dean's eyes for a few seconds before the kid's jaw trembled ever so slightly and he looked down at his food. _What else could be in that car?_ "Is that all you need?" John asked, still trying to figure out what Dean wanted so badly. It was obvious that he was _very_ uncomfortable asking to go back, but for something as trivial as weapons? He'd left the gun his 'father' owned in his rush to get- _Those beads. He wants his beads. Must've left them in the car so he wouldn't lose them. I haven't seen them since the trailhead, at least. They weren't on him in the alley. Must really be special to him. His only link to his old family, I guess._

Dean felt painfully nervous about lying to John. He'd already done it more than once; John caught him in a lie just yesterday. "There might be one or two other things."

"Or four?" John asked flatly, earning a mildly confused glance from Sam, who was stuffing his face, and a severely panicked look from Dean, who had barely touched his food. Full deer-in-the-headlights, cat-out-of-the-bag, brown-pants panic, etched all over his face. "It's okay, Dean. We'll go to your car and leave town from there."

Dean felt like he deflated the moment John said they could go. He was dizzy with relief and had to take a few deep breaths to avoid making a scene. "Thank you, sir."

John rolled his eyes. He was starting to think the whole 'sir' thing was just ingrained in Dean's mindset. With Jerry, it had probably represented submission. But John hoped that with him, the word meant respect, not obedience. "On one condition."

And there was the panic again. Dean tensed immediately and looked uncomfortable in the motel chair. "W-what is it?"

"Finish your breakfast."

"You don't have to come with me." Dean said as he and the Winchesters walked away from the road to the meadow where he'd hidden his car a few days ago. There was snow on the ground, just a few inches deep; normally, Dean would've been very careful about how he walked to keep the freezing stuff from soaking his shoes and pants, but now… Now he had boots. His feet weren't even cold. And the dark blue jacket kept him warm even though one of his arms couldn't go into its sleeve; the bungee at the hem of the coat could be tightened to keep the biting chill out. Sam showed him that. Dean relished the feeling of warmth as they entered the woods between the road and the well-hidden clearing.

"You only have one usable arm, dude." Sam said, plodding right along beside Dean, hands tucked in his pockets. He coughed into the trees beside them every so often, not wanting to take his hands out of the cold to cough into his elbow.

"I can manage."

"You don't have to." John spoke up from behind them. One of his pocketed hands was curled around the older inhaler, tucked away just in case Dean forgot his new one and needed it in the freezing morning air. Without even thinking about it, John was scanning the trees for any potential threats; monsters, people, widow makers, significant drifts of snow collected on branches- anything. "That's what teamwork is. You don't have to take it all on alone anymore, Dean."

A smile crept onto Dean's face. There was that warm feeling again. Was it comfort? Hope? Safety? Dean still couldn't figure it out, but was glad it was there. He didn't care what it was. He'd had it earlier, too, when John made sure he had that stupid inhaler before going out into the cold; boy was he glad John insisted. Dean didn't remember the cold ever sucking his breath away like that.

"Got your key?" John asked as they arrived at the snow, branch, leaf, and dirt covered lump that was shaped kind of like a car.

"Uh, yeah." Dean went to what John thought was the front tire and brushed some snow away. He produced a key and started trying to clear enough snow off the top of the car to open the door. Sam was beside him right away, clearing the snow much quicker than Dean could've with one arm. "Thanks."

Inside the car, everything was just how Dean left it. Except for the small pile of grass and debris that he was pretty sure a mouse had created as a nest. He dug his beads out of the hole in the passenger side seat first, when he knew no one was looking. The breath he hadn't realized he had been holding rushed out of his body as he rolled the perfect little cubes over in his hands. _Dean, Dean, Dean. That's exactly who I am. That's what my Mom and Dad named me. That's how he'll find me._ Another deep breath saw him put the beads and their cord in a zipped pocket on the front of his jacket. That had to be the most secure place those beads had been in years.

Getting back to his cover story, Dean found his wallet and three knives, in various states of cleanliness. One still had fur dried into the blood on the hilt. He even grabbed the tire iron, which was literal iron. Solid iron. John collected all the weapons that Dean brought out in the least full gear duffel they had. _Good thing Sam's still grounded. These things are dangerously filthy_. "Anything else?"

Dean knew there was nothing else of value in his car. His threadbare blanket had mouse holes in it, his other jeans had more tears from werewolves than the first pair had, the canned food in the trunk had probably burst from being frozen- Dean didn't want to look-, and all the paperwork was probably eaten up by now. He really didn't need the title to the car, the lab results, the letters from the clinic about bills. The car itself wasn't even worth selling. "No. That's all I have." He tossed the key on the front seat and closed the door, feeling bittersweet about parting with the old Pinto and moving on to something better. Sure, it was a piece of shit, but it was _his_ piece of shit. Dean had sacrificed a lot to get it. Went through weeks of pain, fear, uncertainty, close calls with police, and more than a few brawls to protect what cash he had earned toward it at any given point. Back when Jerold died, Dean was ready to do anything necessary to get away from Lucy.

Anything.

"Got your beads?" John asked nonchalantly, seeing that Dean had finished his search. Sam took the gear bag handed to him and shouldered it, waiting for the return trip to disembark with a series of strangled coughs and some painful winces.

Dean looked up at John in surprise; he saw no blame or anger or bitterness in the man's expression. He looked… he looked like he understood. A bit embarrassed but not feeling threatened or rejected in the slightest, he answered with a timid nod and the softest, most submissive voice he could manage. That usually worked on Jerold when he messed up and pissed him off. Maybe it would ease this situation too. "Yeah. Sir- John. Sorry."

Dean walked stiffly to join the Winchesters near the back of the car with his eyes downcast. They all knew he messed up; why try to hide it behind some confident facade?

He flinched when John rested a warm hand on the back of his neck, but the motion was just a trained reaction. Dean felt safe, mostly. And he was pretty sure John wasn't angry enough to hurt him. They had just spent a few days in a hospital, after all. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

 _Please let this work out._ Dean closed his eyes and soaked in the acceptance like a drug.

Jerold and Lucy had never been so kind.

Winthrop had tried to Stockholm Syndrome him into believing that the punishments, the threats, the abuse were something that Dean should enjoy. That those things were really kindness and love in disguise and Dean should know that already. How could he not see that?

Dean would have believed had he not known better. Even though he only had blissful five years with his family, he knew what love was. Mommy had loved him, before she died. His Daddy loved him. Daddy was kind and _never_ threatened him or hurt him or made him cry by shouting and hitting and biting. Daddy always tried to make him feel better when he was sick or hold him when he cried. Even when Daddy would get shit-faced drunk, leaving Dean to take care of the little baby- his baby brother- whose name he had long forgotten, Daddy would make sure Dean and the baby were safely in bed before he passed out. Dean was pretty sure that was love, too.

Winthrop was not kind. Winthrop was not loving.

Dean knew better than to fall for his lies, even at the tender age of six.

Jerold and Lucy weren't as bad as Winthrop, but still, they weren't loving and were rarely kind.

John Winchester was already the third best parent-figure he'd ever had, with Mom and Dad taking the first spots, as they always would. _Could it be so wrong to pretend they adopted me? Would it be so bad to call John… Dad?_

"I don't want your colds to get any worse, boys. Hop to it, we're wasting daylight." John released Dean and nudged him out front with Sam where he could watch for any signs of fatigue or masked coughing from both of them. And of course, he was constantly scanning for threats.

With the gear bag put in the trunk and the wool blanket out once more, the trio set about making their way south. John hadn't been specific about where, but he knew it had to be south. Somewhere warm and safe, where the boys couldn't get sick again and where nothing freaky had happened in the last hundred years.

John knew Sam was sick, but he got viruses all the time. Kid was a magnet for 'em. But when the normally talkative son of his fell asleep against the window after a full night of quality rest, John knew he'd have to take Sam in to see someone. He felt bad for waiting so long to address the issue but honestly, he was hoping it would go away on its own. Dean had been enough to deal with at the time. He was snoozing too, curled up against the door similar to how Sam usually sat. Might have been the painkillers that knocked that one out, though.

The boys slept for six hours. John actually had to actively wake them when he stopped for gas and food. He shook Dean's knee and then Sam's, earning congested groans from both parties. "Sam. Dean. Lunch."

Dean came around first, undoubtedly trained to respond to his name or any loud sound even in sleep. "Huh?" There was a foggy haze in Dean's eyes as he slowly blinked himself awake, quickly rubbing the snot- or maybe drool- mark from the window where he'd been sleeping. He blushed when he realized that he'd fallen asleep while they drove; he never meant to do that. It might come across as weakness, might make them want to rethink their offer.

"Food." John said, less forcefully this time. He pointed to a small brightly painted building that sat across the two lane road from the gas station they were parked. "Whatever you want from that diner across the way."

"Really?" Dean asked, surprised that he wasn't getting cussed out about his show of frailty. John didn't even seem phased by him falling asleep. With the warm feeling making itself known yet again, Dean yawned and tried to stretch his aching legs. He almost tried to stretch his arms, but then thought better of it. The sling was a handy reminder.

"Truly. As soon as I'm done here, we'll head over. Sam, wake up. It's time for lunch." John said before he got out of the car and rounded it to start pumping gas while Sam slowly became coherent.

"Don' feel good, Dad." Sam whined, not moving, not even opening his eyes.

John huffed at having a conversation through the closed window, but what else could he do? These old pumps had a tendency to leak and opening a door or window would let the cold air into the cab where it could only make matters worse. "What's going on today?"

"My throat hurts. And my stomach."

Dean looked to Sam, at a loss. He didn't know what to do. What _could_ he do? He'd never successfully cared for another person in his life. The only one he'd been in charge of was the only human he'd ever killed.

"I'll see if the kit has anything." John disappeared to the trunk and began rummaging through the medicines in the med kit.

"Why are you sick?" Dean asked, trying to start a conversation and maybe help Sam wake up. That seemed like a helpful thing to do.

"Why are _you_ sick?" Sam shot back, still refusing to open his eyes.

"I hustled a game of pool."

Sam finally opened his eyes. He looked over at Dean, moving as little as possible. "How does that give you pneumonia?"

"The guys I hustled threw me into the lake. Y'know, the one in the city park? You could see it from the room at the hospital. They, uh…" Dean paused, not entirely sure he wanted Sam and John to know why they'd just spent so long cooped up in a place they obviously hated, eating bad food and sleeping in uncomfortable chairs. _Why did I even bring this up?_

"They threw you in a lake?" Sam repeated, upset that someone would do that to another person, but furious that it had been Dean.

"…with a shopping bag full of rocks tied around my ankle." Dean looked down at his lap and picked at the little fuzzies on the blanket. "But those plastic bags rip easy. I just had to make a hole and push the rocks out to get free and they knew that. I don't think they really wanted to kill me. But I got some of that scummy water in my throat and choked on it. Guess it got in my lungs too." Dean shrugged. "Wasn't the warmest night either. That didn't help."

"They tied a bag of rocks to you and threw you in a lake!" Sam yelled, sitting up and facing Dean. "Why aren't you pissed about that? It's one thing to hustle pool, but attempted murder is a felony, Dean. You could've died."

"Why could Dean have died?" John returned and got in the car, having finished with the gas and fished some cold medicine from the med kit in the trunk.

"Some guys threw him-"

"It's nothing. We were just talking. I hustled a game of pool. Guys got mad. They did some stuff. End of story." Dean said quickly, not wanting John to get angry about the trivial nature of the pneumonia they'd just spent the last week or so fussing over.

John was already on edge over the fact that Dean was trying to hide something from him. Something he'd already told Sam.

"They threw him in a lake with rocks tied to his ankle." Sam said, staring Dean down as he spoke. "That's why he's sick."

Dean sunk into the seat, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to disappear.

"When was this?" John snapped, struggling to get his emotions in check. _I'll bury the bastards._ In all honesty, John had expected a much worse tale to be told. Dean had to get that STD from _somewhere_. John was just relieved that it wasn't from some cowards trying to get back at a kid who beat them at their own game.

"It's not a big deal." Dean said quickly, trying to downplay the incident. He cringed when John's eyes narrowed. _I can get away if I have to. Just open the door and run._

"How long ago?"

Dean bit his lip and tried to stop his hand from shaking. With his best 'don't hurt me' eyes and voice, he answered. "S-seven months."

John turned around and seemed to get twice as big in Dean's mind.

"You've been sick for seven months?" _Don't yell- don't yell. Don't scare him. He needs to feel safe. Just bury it. Focus on them._

"I'm sorry." Dean flinched as John yelled and ducked his head, turning away slightly so that he'd only get a bruise and not a black eye when John lashed out. The reaction had been perfected during his time with Jerold and his hunting buddies. They were… physical.

"Why are you sorry for almost being killed?" _No, be gentle. Don't lose it._ "Dean, you should've told me how long you'd been sick when I asked you. I would've taken you straight to the hospital."

"I didn't think it was important. I didn't want you to waste your money." Dean couldn't look up or stop chewing on his lip. _Door's right there. I'll know to never look back if he hits me. All he has to do is hit me once…_

 _Deep breaths._ "Dean…" John sighed. "It's not a waste if you benefit from it. You _are_ important to us. Now, did you call the police? Were these men arrested?"

Dean shook his head, still shaking.

"And why not?" It was almost a growl. Somebody hurt his son- almost killed him- and got away with it. _Focus…_

Dean hesitantly looked up at John and promptly dropped his gaze, losing his nerve. "They were locals. The owner knew them. He gave them the bag and said he didn't see anything. Who do you think the police would have believed? The owner of a successful bar or a random homeless kid with no last name?" Dean picked a ball of fuzz from the blanket and tried to press it back into place. "I never had a chance. So why bother?"

 _Count to ten. Deep breaths. He's here now._ "Dean, listen to me." John waited until Dean looked up to continue. "If anyone threatens you again, from this point on, just tell us, okay? And if anyone hurts you, let me know. If the system won't do anything about it, _I will_. Now, we don't kill humans-" John looked pointedly at Sam, then pointedly at Dean. "But that doesn't mean they won't face consequences for what they've done."

Dean sniffed his nose and looked back to the blanket as he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You deserve to feel safe, Dean. Everyone does."

"Yes, sir."

John barely managed to cool down before they got into the diner. All he wanted to do was throttle something, or maybe just pick his kid up and hold him for a long time. Either way, the repercussions of his actions probably wouldn't be very positive.

It was obvious that the boys picked up on his frustration, as neither one looked him in the eye or spoke until they were seated at a booth along the front of the place. Dean sat first, not wanting to have to choose who was going to sit beside him. He didn't want to get on anyone's nerves. Sam sat beside him, then John took up the last available bench.

No one made a sound until the waitress came and went. They ate in silence; Dean was glad. It was the best lunch he'd ever had and the Winchesters acted like it was just another day. A huge bacon cheeseburger, suggested by John and sneered at by Sam, with fries and some kind of fizzy cola - it was amazing. He could really get used to this. Maybe not the sickening full feeling, but still.

"I'll be right back. Don't forget your meds." John said about halfway through the meal. Both boys just nodded and continued eating like teenage boys. John stepped outside into the brisk winter breeze and went to sit in the Impala; he hoped leaving Sam would help Dean to not panic if he saw John get in the car. He didn't want the kid to be so nervous, but it wasn't something he could fix right away and he knew that. Still, it wasn't right to go triggering him all the time. Even if John sometimes didn't know what the trigger was.

The little black flip phone was his latest device, the last one having been smashed when he fell on it while toasting a vengeful spirit. He punched in the number and waited exactly two rings. "Bobby?"

"What?"

"Need to call in a favor."

"Before you start talkin', I got news."

John frowned. "What's that?"

"You gonna hang up on me again?"

"Depends what you say."

"Still got that boy with ya? That Ross kid?"

John hesitated. Part of him wanted to shout to the world that his son had been found and was with his father at that very moment, but… the rest of him knew the repercussions of that. Sure, his friends and fellow hunters would be glad to hear that Dean wasn't dead- those of them who knew of his son, at least-, but then there were those like Bobby who would try to convince John that the kid in his car wasn't really his son. That he should dump the freeloader at the next gas station and move on. People like Bobby and Ellen would look down on Dean like he was some kind of imposter, might even threaten him. They'd never known Dean, not even when he was little. If they had, they would have no doubt that the Winchester brothers were reunited.

John had to hide his oldest son from the world, at least for a little while. Until he could _prove_ that this was his little trooper. His Dean. "No."

"D'ya know what happened to 'im? Where he went?" Bobby asked, not sounding terribly surprised that 'Ross' was gone.

"He bolted as soon as we left the woods. Couldn't find him afterwards." John said evenly, only lying a little bit. They _had_ lost 'Ross', but they didn't find him. They found Dean. They found _Dean Winchester_ , John's _son_.

"Well that woman who ran 'im out wants 'im back, apparently. She called me all weepy and blubberin' as soon as she caught word that the kid was identified by a hunter. Said she misses…" Bobby paused and let out a heavy sigh. "His name is Dean, but don't get to hopin', John. She said she misses Dean and wants him to come home."

"Last time we talked you told me she abused that kid." John said, getting frustrated. No way in _hell_ was he handing over one of his most treasured responsibilities. "Why in the hell would he ever want to go back to a place like that?"

"I'm on your side, John. I don't think he should go, but she thought if someone could let the kid know, maybe he'd think otherwise. He's an adult now, should be let to make his own decisions. You sure you don't know where he would have gone?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Best to end this now. "Bobby, that kid is dead and if he's not, he's damn close. The wendigo tore him to shreds and I'm _sure_ he had pneumonia. He was living on the streets, barely had any meat on his bones- and he kept crying out, begging us to not do 'that'. You and I both know what 'that' means. And living on the streets during winter is practically a death sentence in that city, Bobby. He doesn't stand a chance on his own. Now I looked for him, I did. Sam helped; we didn't find any trace of him after two days."

"Sorry to hear that." Bobby said quietly. "Really sounded like he needed someone to help 'im out. Why'd he run off?"

"Kid was scared of me from the start." John said, telling the truth for once. "Words were said… He took 'em the wrong way and split."

"Damn. Guess Lucy has to mourn two family members with nothin' to bury."

"I know how that feels." John had to actually, consciously keep himself from saying that Dean was never Lucy's family. Not the way she and Jerry treated him. So instead of starting something with Bobby, he just took a deep breath and remembered what it was like to mourn.

After a year or so of searching for his little boy, John started to lose hope. He took a dive, was barely able to take care of tiny Sammy. Thankfully, he met Ellen and Bill shortly before that through the hunter network, while searching for Dean. Ellen loved Sam from the moment she saw him and John trusted her with his baby boy after a while. He wouldn't have made it through that time without her. And their little girl, Jo, was as spunky as Dean had been. Made the mourning process a little easier to go through. Bill kept him from drinking himself into oblivion; ironic how the man would pass away just a few years later from hereditary cirrhosis that caused his liver to fail.

John still missed Bill. He felt like shit for cutting ties with Ellen after a few months of radio silence, but he knew she was trying to keep Jo out of the life. And John had no intentions of keeping Sammy out of it. He needed to be prepared; Dean was gone because he wasn't ready for what came for him. John knew he should have been there, that Sam and Dean would've been safe had their Daddy just watched his babies like he should have. At least Dean saved Sam when John couldn't.

"Don't stop hurtin' even after all these years." Bobby sympathized. John knew he'd lost his wife years before they met. That was part of the reason they hit it off so well in the beginning. He lost Karen. John lost Dean. Instant drinking buddy.

"Bobby, can I call in a favor?" John said, his voice somewhat shaky from the rollercoaster he was going through in his head.

"What'd ya need, John?" Bobby didn't sound much better; at least his voice didn't threaten tears.

 _Deep breaths._ "Sammy and me are headed south for the winter. We need a place to stay for a few months, somewhere with nothing unnatural going on, preferably with a good school system nearby. His epilepsy has been acting up and I think we need to just slow down for a while, find a doc who can figure out what's going on with his meds and fix it. I know that's gonna take at least three months. They'll change the dose and then wait a couple weeks, change it again when it doesn't work, you know the drill. I've bitched about it enough." John had to admit that Bobby was usually his go-to vent for his frustrations with his son. Whether it was his temper or his condition, Bobby heard it all.

"Understood. You want me to scope out a couple towns?"

"I'd really appreciate it."

"Anywhere in particular you want to head to? East? West? Midwest?"

"Well, we're pretty far west at the moment. Let's shoot for Midwest. I don't want to be on the road for the next few days."

"I'll call ya later with some possibles. Anythin' else I should know?"

"Sammy's starting high school this year. In case you didn't know. So a good high school is a must. If he's going to college, he needs a strong foundation."

"You really gonna force that on the kid?"

"Education is important, Bobby. He's not going to be in the life forever, not if I can help it. As soon as we find the nest that took Dean and wipe them out, he'll be home free. We can't put down roots while those blood suckers still have Sammy's scent. He won't be safe. And I can't just hide him, Bobby. If I leave him alone…"

"Point taken. We'll talk about college when the time comes. For now, I'll find a decent high school in a town with zero weird activity in a southern state in the middle of the country. Sound about right?"

"Thanks, Bobby."

"We even now?"

"After you find that town."

* * *

 **A/N: Leave a review and let me know what you think. Am I portraying the characters well enough (I know Dean's different)? How long do you think they'll be able to keep Dean around? What will he do if he runs?**


	17. PYT

**A/N: Vivi here! Weekend was rough. So so busy. Don't recommend spending twenty hours volunteering in three days. Anyway, I'm on winter break now. Perhaps you'll get more than one update in the following week…**

 **Also, I didn't realize this was a MEGA chapter until I put it in the doc manager. But you guys deserve it for all I've put you through.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"We even now?"_

 _"After you find that town."_

* * *

Sam fell asleep again once they were on the road for about half an hour. Dean was fully awake this time, passively listening to the music John was playing from one of his many cassette tapes while staring out the window.

"Dean." John called quietly, not wanting to wake Sam.

"Huh?" Dean snapped to attention, eyes wide like he'd done something wrong.

"Did you take your pills this morning?"

"Yeah."

"Both antibiotics and the painkiller?"

"Yes, sir."

"How about Sam? He take his etho?"

"Yeah, I made sure he did."

John glanced up at Dean in the rearview mirror, surprised and pleased by that last response. "You made sure?"

"Yeah."

"And why's that?"

Dean looked confused. "B-because he doesn't like having seizures? And the medicine keeps them from happening, right?"

John smiled and looked back to the road. "Goin' all mother hen on him, are ya?"

Dean blushed, but John wasn't looking. "No. It's important. I just wanted to make it so he wouldn't have to suffer all day. I- I don't like when he hurts like that." Dean didn't mention that seeing Sam have an episode- whether it was a seizure or a coughing fit that ended in gasps- made Dean feel powerless, helpless. And he didn't like that at all. He wanted to be able to protect the Winchesters like they protected him. That was why he was with them, right?

"Thank you for that, Dean. It means a lot." John couldn't help but feel proud of his little grown-up. "We'll be on the road for a while yet. If you're tired, you can sleep. I'll wake you up for dinner."

* * *

The buzzing in John's pocket made him jump. Not because it scared or surprised him, but because both his boys were sleeping yet again and he didn't want to wake them. Dusk was fast approaching; he hoped they'd be able to sleep through the night when they found somewhere to stop. Hopefully a big dinner would put them both into food comas.

"What?" John hissed, not even bothering to see what the number was.

"John? Somethin' wrong?"

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Got a kid sleeping in the back seat. Gotta keep it down."

"Sam sick?"

"Yeah, he caught something looking for…" _Can't say his name or Dean will wake up._

"Sorry to hear that. I found a couple places you might approve of."

"Shoot."

"Lake Charles, Louisiana. Carthage, Mississippi. Temple, Texas."

"The Calcasieu poltergeist is in Lake Charles, Bobby." John said, somewhat frustrated. Even _John_ had heard about that sucker. Apparently the wrong guy was buried in the poltergeist's grave so nobody could figure out where the real guy was buried to kill the ghost. Poor folks just had to live with the violent SOB or sell the property in a never-ending scam.

"That where that courthouse is?"

"Yes. And does the Mississippi Morpheus ring a bell? That thing hunts near Carthage. I've never taken Sam within fifty miles of that place." John said, glancing back at the boys. Both still snoring softly, sharing the blanket on either side of the back seat. "And I never will." No way was John going to let either boy go there. No hunter had been able to identify the creature that was killing people in the backwoods and swamps and those who had tried to hunt it down just didn't come back.

"Thought Ed Jackson took that thing down." Except Ed Jackson, of course. But he was a serial liar. John didn't think for a minute that Ed took the Morpheus down. He had no proof.

"There have been at least seventeen sightings since he claimed that, and all of them were during the day, Bobby. Just a few feet from the creature. Can't imagine how many folks didn't make it out of there to report it. It's still there. I know it is."

"Well, what's in Temple, smartass?"

John chuckled lightly. _There's a winner._ "I'm hoping for a good school."

"Finally. Well, the high school is best known for sports and advanced courses. It's a whopper, too. Near two thousand kids, grades nine to twelve."

"Damn."

"Place that big makes for a safe haven, John. No way a vamp could scent Sam in that kind of chaos."

John froze as he realized something. If the vampires who took Dean had Sam's scent, and his own, then they obviously had Dean's too. John had no idea how his son escaped those fangs the first time, but he had, and now he was probably on the run just like they were. _If_ any of that original nest was even still living. _If_ he knew vamps never forgot a scent. _If_ he even remembered what he was taken by. _Maybe that's why he didn't want to come with us. He thought he'd be a death sentence._

"How big is the town?"

"'Bout half a million. Seventy five square miles or so."

"And the weather?"

"Don't go below freezin'. Even in January at night."

"Good. You didn't happen to look for rentals near the school, did you?" John asked lightheartedly, fully expecting Bobby to have some smart comment about being even.

"There's a couple individual houses within a mile. Reasonable rent, too."

"Damn, Bobby. No wonder everyone calls you."

"Don't take a genius to ask around and get info."

"I think we're even now." John chuckled again, turning onto the next exit off the highway in search of food.

"Just one more thing."

"And what's that?"

"There's a garage real close to the school lookin' for help. Called Kabler Auto."

"I owe you one, Bobby."

* * *

"What the hell are funeral potatoes?" Dean blurted out, quickly scolding himself for not censoring his words. He stole a quick glance up at John to see if he'd upset the man.

"It's a potato casserole with cheese in it." John said lazily as he looked over the menu. "It's pretty popular around this part of the country."

"Utah is weird." Dean muttered, continuing in his search for a cheap but still edible option for dinner. It was stressing him out a little that he was taking so long to read the menu, but he really only looked at words he knew and could read quickly; potato, chicken, beef, stuff like that. He didn't even try to read the menu in its entirety.

Sam, on the other hand, had already decided on what he was getting and was now resting his head on his folded arms, nearly asleep in the noisy restaurant.

John made sure dinner was fast. He didn't want either boy to leave hungry, but he also wanted to find a place before they passed out for the night. Sam was getting close; anyone with eyes could tell.

"Don't forget meds." John said as they returned to the car. He tossed Sam's bottle to Sam and tossed Dean the bag with all his inside. Pills were had, bottles returned to the glove box, inhaler purposefully left on the seat so they wouldn't forget to take it into the motel with them.

The Red Ribbon Inn and Suites was nearly full by the time they rolled up. It was the first motel in a hundred miles that John had seen. Father procured the room, roused the children, and corralled everyone and everything they needed into the room. After he checked it, of course.

Sam almost immediately passed out on the bed furthest from the door- the one that was usually his- and John insisted that Dean shower first so he could sleep longer. He did, and come out in his flannel PJ pants and a gray shirt, droopy eyed and stifling the vengeful coughs that tried to escape every so often. John turned the heater in the room up a little, careful to not disturb the salt lines he'd already laid down. He checked on Sam quickly before he showered.

John took his time; it was nice to finally not be rushing from one case to the next. Granted, they were rushing from a case to a city across the country, but still.

His leisure was exactly was why he felt guilty when he opened the bathroom door and there stood Dean, fretting and panicking, wide eyed and scared. It seemed like he couldn't stop moving, shifting from one foot to the other every few seconds.

"What's wrong, Dean?" John asked quietly, tossing his used clothes towards his duffel and putting on his calm face after the initial shock of the sight before him.

"I- I don't know." He stammered, savagely scratching at his leg. "I'm just super itchy all of a sudden."

"All over?" John asked quietly. He had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Nothing he couldn't handle.

"No, just my legs. Am I hexed? Did something curse me? Am I having a reaction to my medicine?" Dean asked, big innocent eyes looking to John for help. He was obviously frightened; breaths came fast and shallow, his face was flushed, and he squirmed like crazy.

 _Kid probably thinks he's on death's door. Makes me wonder if he ever got new clothes. Or actual medicine. Or medical care at all._ "You're allergic to whatever those pants were treated with before we bought 'em." John said, walking past Dean to pull a Benadryl from the med kit, which followed them into every motel room, just in case.

"So- so I'm okay?"

"No, you're having a minor allergic reaction. Go wash your legs off and put on your sweats. The ones you wore last night. Those should be fine. We'll wash clothes when we get to Temple." John said, handing Dean the little pink pill. "And take some Benadryl before you wash off. It'll help with the itch."

"Thank you, sir." John watched some of the tension roll out of Dean's shoulders. "Where's Temple?" The kid asked as he got a glass of water.

"Texas. That's where we'll be staying for the next few months." John said, watching his son to make sure he took the pill. _Of course he'll take it. Kid's freaking out._ Dean didn't even hesitate.

"Never been to Texas before." Dean went to his duffel and pulled out the sweats before ducking into the bathroom once more.

John waited patiently in a cushioned chair next to the television, writing in his journal until he could make sure Dean was feeling better after his second shower. He wanted to record the information Bobby gave him before he forgot. _Temple, Texas. Kabler Auto. Rentals close to school…_ John also took the time to document Dean's diagnoses and therapy instructions in case the papers got lost.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door squeaked opened. Dean stumbled out, still scratching at his leg, but now wearing the sweatpants.

"Any better?" John asked as he closed the journal and tossed it into his duffel.

Dean looked at him with eyes at half-staff, blinking lazily while he waited for the question to make sense. "Uh, yeah. Less itchy. But I feel all… heavy."

John grinned sleepily and motioned for Dean to go to bed. "Benadryl makes you tired, by the way. You'll sleep good tonight."

Dean just blinked at John for a few seconds. _He drugged me. He sleepy drugged me._ A tiny flare of panic popped up in his belly before he remembered who he was with. Every day, Dean was feeling less panicked, less nervous, and less uncertain about this arrangement. He trusted them, mostly. The Winchesters really were the perfect little family. Dean flopped onto his bed, face down, eyes closed, ignoring the slight ache in his sling-held arm as it was squished under him.

"Gotta sit up, kiddo. You still need to breathe while you sleep, remember?" John shook his head and chuckled at the lack of response he got. He went to the bed and gently squeezed Dean's good shoulder. "The sooner you prop yourself up with pillows, the sooner I'll let you sleep." _He didn't flinch when I touched him. We're making progress._

Dean groaned and pushed himself back to his feet, tossing the few extra pillows from Sam's bed and the four from his own into a makeshift wedge so he wouldn't be horizontal while he slept. He collapsed onto the wedge and within a minute, he was out.

John just stood there for a while, peacefully content to have the luxury of both his sons in the same room, sleeping soundly. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over that feeling.

* * *

"Why are we leaving so early?" Sam whined, trudging out to the Impala in his PJ pants with the wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. John had already loaded everything in the car; Sam was the last one to leave the room. It was still dark out, so John could understand the kid's frustration.

"We need to get to Temple before dark, squirt. You can sleep on the way. Look, Dean's already way ahead of you." John pointed to where Dean leaned against the door of the car, already fast asleep in the back seat. John had woken Dean first, knowing he probably wouldn't have all the Benadryl out of his system yet and would take longer to get started. The father didn't bat an eye when his oldest rounded up his new belongings, threw his coat on, and plopped down in the car before Sam even came around.

"'Kay." Sam yawned and cringed. His throat was so sore that even coughing felt like needles jabbing him in the neck.

"We'll stop for food in a couple hours. Do you need anything for your cold?"

"No, I'm jus' gonna sleep." Sam got in the car and rearranged the blanket so that it covered himself but also Dean's legs. The air in the car was frigid at best.

"Everyone buckled?" John asked. Sam leaned over and clicked Dean's buckle in place before securing his own.

"Yeah."

"Texas here we come."

* * *

 _If I never see another car again it'll be too soon._ John wanted to just pound his head against the steering wheel. Of all the times he'd been to Texas, this was the worst traffic he thought he'd ever seen in the state. _Hope this isn't an everyday kind of thing._

"Dad, I'm hungry." Sam said from the back seat, where he had his knees to his chest, all bundled in the blanket.

"I know, Sam. We'll stop soon." John said, changing the track on the cassette and quickly turning the volume down as the sudden intro to the next song made Dean flinch.

"What time is it?"

"About eight."

"Are we there yet?"

"Yes, Sam. We're in Temple. We're just stuck in traffic at the moment."

"How much longer?"

"Let's play the quiet game."

* * *

"I thought you said we were getting an apartment." Sam grumbled as he hauled his bag into the motel room.

"We're actually renting a small house this time around." John said, waiting until Dean came inside to close the door. "I just need to get ahold of the landlord and find a place."

"Are we enrolled in school yet?"

"No, I'm taking care of that tomorrow. You may need to take some entrance exams, though."

"Oh, I hate entrance exams." Sam groaned. He threw his bag onto a bed and fell backwards across the covers. "Do we have to?"

"Yes."

"What kind of paperwork do I need to forge to get in?" Dean asked nonchalantly as he dumped his bag onto the other bed in the small, pueblo themed room.

"You don't have to forge anything." John said, taking a mental inventory of all the paperwork he had on Dean in the little safe tucked away in the trunk. "I'll do it." _Should have everything I need._

"But I know how. I'm pretty good at it, too. Lucy taught me." Dean said nervously. _Maybe he thinks I'll screw it up. He doesn't want me to get them in trouble._

 _Dammit. Lucy._ John sighed and scratched at the back of his head, trying to forget the conversation with Bobby. If John had his way, Lucy would never get her hands on Dean again. "I'm sure you know what you're doing, son, but I have to sign a lot of the documents. Just easier if I do it."

 _Son._ This time, Dean wasn't utterly confused by the term of endearment. He got the feeling that John just used the word to cover any male younger than himself. "Okay. Let me know if I can help."

"Everyone get enough for dinner?"

"Yes." The boys answered in unison, the act not even phasing them. It sent a grin to John's face.

"Everyone take their medicine?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Yeah, Dad."

 _We'll work on that one._ "I'm going to hit the Kinkos. Don't stay up too late, we've got an early morning tomorrow." John said as he grabbed the car keys and one motel room key from the table next to the door. _Sam will be fine; Dean's a good kid. Wouldn't abandon him, especially while he's sick._

"When will you be back?"

John turned to see a nervous look on Dean's face, though the kid was trying hard to hide it. "Give me an hour." _I won't be gone long, son. Certainly not long enough for something to track and take you again. I'll make sure._

"Okay." Dean nodded. "Is there anything you want me to do while you're gone?"

"Breathing exercises." John pointed to his duffel, where the goofy tube thing was still in its bag. "Haven't done 'em yet, and doc said they were important. Your inhaler is in there too, by the way."

"O-okay."

"Oh, and lay salt lines, would ya?"

* * *

The light tan cover of the journal was obviously fake leather, but John hoped it would withstand anything Dean could throw at it. While making copies of all Sam and Dean's documents to give to the school, the journal had caught his eye. John figured that if Dean couldn't read well, he probably couldn't write well either. Maybe giving him a journal would give him a solid reason to practice both. Even if he didn't use it for everyday observations, he could use it as a job archive, just like John did with his. Two birds with one stone.

* * *

He was back in under an hour. Sam was already asleep, probably in a food coma. The salt lines were perfectly laid.

Dean stood near the bed closest to the door fully dressed, loaded shotgun in hand, ready to go. John and Dean just stared at each other for a few moments, Dean all tension and nervous energy and John overwhelmed by the familiarity of the sight, hand frozen on the door handle. "It's me, kiddo." John choked out once he could speak again.

That was the same thing he always said to his little trooper when he came home after a hunt. John doubted Dean would remember it, but he couldn't _not_ say it. Here was his oldest, now a sturdy seventeen year old, holding a gun as if it were an extension of himself, protecting his little brother from the things that go bump in the night. He couldn't _not_ see the adorable, overwhelmed five year old, his tiny hands holding a gun so foreign and scary as Daddy left him in charge of everything that mattered in their lives. The last words he ever said to his baby boy were 'Watch out for Sammy'. And here Dean was, doing just that all these years later.

For some reason, the words put Dean at ease with such speed that Dean thought he might have been drugged. He knew he wasn't, but still. He flipped the safety on and put the gun back in the duffel as John locked the door behind him. Dean scolded himself for raising a weapon to the man who saved him, the man who was providing for him like a son. _He's gotta be pissed. He's gonna-_

"Good work with that salt." John said as he tossed the folders of papers onto the free bed. "Anything happen while I was gone?"

Dean was a little surprised by the words of praise. He'd pointed a gun at the man; Jerold would have slapped him upside the head, if not the face, for that. "Uh- no. No, sir- er- John. Sam fell asleep pretty quick. He was really tired. I gave him some more cold meds and he went down."

"And you waited up with a gun. The TV's not even on." John pointed out. He thought they'd be up, talking, watching TV; it was a rare treat for them to have more than three channels, and this motel boasted at least seven. It made sense that Sam passed out so quick, but that put Dean on edge and that wasn't fair to the already strung out kid.

"No distractions. Easier to protect something when there aren't any distractions."

 _C'mon, Dean. Just be a kid again._ "It's okay to relax sometimes, Dean."

"But then who would guard Sa- the room?" Dean almost flinched at his slip up. He didn't want John to think that he was getting too attached. That was dangerous. Dean wasn't going to be manipulated like that again. But Sammy was just… he was just like Dean imagined his baby brother would be if he hadn't killed him by accident all those years ago. Smart, kind, adorable, energetic, driven… Dean ached for his lost family. For his Daddy. For his perfect baby brother; Dean hated himself for not being able to remember the baby's name. He remembered loving that kid so much he couldn't stay away; they even slept in the crib together, sometimes, when the baby couldn't go down on his own. Dean missed his Mommy too, even though he knew she was dead. She was dead long before Dean was taken. He couldn't remember how she died, but he knew she was gone. He remembered Daddy crying and drinking a lot, leaving he and his brother with people whose names Dean didn't know. Dean remembered crying too, and Daddy was there for him. He knew Mommy was gone.

He wanted all that back. Dean wanted Mom and Dad and his brother all together again, even if they weren't in the old house, even if they didn't have a house at all. As long as they were together. But he couldn't let John know that. It showed weakness. _You're not a cry-baby. Suck it up. Don't let him see you break._

"Sam should've stayed awake so _both_ of you could wind down before bed. I know how much Sam hates long car rides. And you probably don't like 'em much either. You needed some time to stretch out." John said, frowning as he realized Dean wasn't wearing his sling. John knew exactly why, too. _He couldn't hold the gun with his sling on. He ditched it to stand guard._ The father, feeling guilty for not noticing sooner, took another long look at his son. It was hard for him not to acknowledge Dean's obviously bitten down fingernails. They were red and angry looking, almost bleeding. _Kid must've been out of his mind with worry. They weren't like that earlier. Note to self: don't leave Dean without someone else around. Someone who's awake._ His shoulder was still bothering him; he could tell by the way Dean was moving. Otherwise, he looked okay. Physically, at least.

"But…"

"Where's your sling?"

Dean's eyes got wide; another deer-in-the-headlights special. He took a few steps back and felt his body get ready for impact. _He spent all that money, all that time trying to fix me and my stupid lungs and my damn arm and I just- just- he thinks I don't give a shit. He'll be furious. He paid for this shoulder and I'm screwing it up again. But I had to protect Sam and- and those other guns are confusing. No excuse, though, not for this._ Dean's arm had been throbbing for the better part of the hour, but he didn't dare make himself vulnerable again, not while Sam was sleeping. Not while John wasn't there to save him when Dean failed. "I- I-"

"Dean, I'm not angry. I'm not going to hurt you." John said softly, sitting on the empty bed as he took in the sheer panic that was etched on Dean's face. "Where's your sling?"

Dean hadn't relaxed by the time he pointed his left hand toward his duffel. _He's lying. I've seen this one before. I damaged his property; so much for sleeping in a bed tonight or getting food tomorrow._ Dean felt the sting of humiliating, frightened tears bite at his eyes. _I ruin every good thing that happens to me. Why did I think this would be any different? Please, please don't make me leave._

 _He's right handed. Clumsy as hell with his left; why isn't he using his right? I'm sure it still hurts to move that arm, but he should move it without thinking first._ "How's your shoulder?"

Dean shrugged and folded his arms, letting his left take the weight of his right off of the shoulder in question. He still wasn't gearing down; eyes still wide, posture still hunched like he didn't want to be hit.

 _I will never hit you, son. Ever._ "You need to wear the sling, Dean." John said slowly, standing and going to his son. Dean watched him the whole way, his hands started to shake as John got close. "Can I see it?" He held his hands out for Dean's right arm.

Dean let go of his right arm and tried to lift it in order to put it in John's hands; it was his after all. Fire erupted in the joint and Dean squeezed his eyes shut rather than whimper, forcing himself to continue the movement through the blaze.

"Whoa, whoa- don't hurt yourself, Dean." John reached out quickly and took the weight of his son's arm before he moved another inch. He watched one big, fat tear roll down the kid's cheek and sighed, feeling like an ass. Dean may have had a pretty mature poker face, but John remembered all the unconscious movements his little boy showed when in pain. His mouth pulled into a barely noticeable frown, his forehead wrinkled just a little, and his nostrils flared with every breath. As if the tear wasn't evidence enough. "Can you shed a couple layers so I can actually see it? Or does it hurt too much?"

Dean didn't respond; he was focusing on breathing evenly, trying to stop the waves of primal fear and panic that wouldn't let up. _Don't give him a reason to fire you._

With a sigh, John put the arm through its range of motion, stopping when those tiny signs showed up. He would have liked to see the joint itself, see where the bruising was still lingering, if any of the muscles there were showing any signs of atrophy. But he didn't want to push. Dean was at the end of his rope and it was John's fault. "Sorry, buddy."

When he was satisfied with its motion, he supported the arm with one of his own and tapped on each of Dean's fingers, which he hadn't seen move voluntarily since… well, since the hospital. _Don't tell me you have a pinched nerve, kid. Don't tell me you've been suffering this whole time and didn't say anything._ "Can you feel this?"

Dean nodded stiffly, his whole head facing away from John as he struggled to gain control of himself.

"Which finger am I touching?"

"Right index." Dean forced the words out, keeping his tone even.

John put two of his own fingers in Dean's palm. _Good. Now prove you can still control it._ "Squeeze."

Dean did as he was told. John noticed with pleasant surprise that his son's grip actually kind of stung his own fingers. The muscles in the kid's forearm weren't damaged at all; Dean was actually strong when he was able to consciously use his musculature. "Okay. Here; don't let it pull." John returned Dean's arm and dug the sling out of the bag. The kid's eyes were still closed when he returned and the last thing he wanted to do was startle the kid and accidently tear a tendon. "Let's put the sling back on, huh?"

Dean nodded stiffly and opened his eyes, but couldn't look at John.

"Hold still, Dean." John said gently. The sling was back in place seconds later. Dean looked a little more relaxed, but not much.

"What's got you on edge, son?"

Dean spoke without thinking, wiping the embarrassing, weak tears off his face with his left arm. "I damaged your p-property. You're mad. I understand." His voice was quiet and thick with tears. Jerold always made sure Dean said he understood why he was being punished when the time inevitably came. Dean didn't know why; he rarely understood why his supposed guardian hit him or took away his food and bed. But if Dean didn't say he understood, the punishment was always twice as bad when the words were eventually forced out of him. Dean learned to say those two words immediately when confronted with a situation where he could have done something wrong. It was easier that way. But John didn't need to know that.

 _And here I thought we dodged the emotional side effects of those pain meds._ "What did you break? It can't be that bad."

Dean swatted lightly at his shoulder, making both of them flinch a little. "I don't understand… Your shoulder?"

Dean nodded.

"Dean, you aren't my property. You're nobody's property." John sighed and scrubbed at his face before continuing. "No one can own you. No one can own a human; it's wrong. You're here to live with me and Sam, not serve us or something. You don't belong to us. I'm not mad. Not at all. But I am worried."

The young man rubbed his bloodshot eyes and looked up at John, his fear momentarily forgotten and replaced with confusion. "W-worried?" _But… that doesn't make any sense._

"You need to heal and it'll take a lot longer if you keep taking your sling off. It'll hurt for longer. I don't want you to have to go through any more pain."

Dean studied John's face, trying hard not to cough. He couldn't find any trace of dishonesty after a few moments and he felt his body fall out of high alert and back into the exhaustion he had felt when they pulled up at the motel. He looked away, toward the door and swallowed hard. _I'm safe. I'm not gonna get hit. I-he…_

"Dean?" John put a supporting hand on the kid's good shoulder when he swayed and his eyes glazed over. "Breathe, kid. Just breathe for a minute."

Dean nodded, realizing that he'd stopped drawing in enough air to survive. The first breath was shaky, but deep. He tried to remember to keep breathing, but he was mentally exhausted. Nothing made sense anymore.

The father waited a minute before gently guiding his boy to the open bed and pushing him down to sit on the edge. John sat beside him, far enough away that the kid would feel secure, but close enough to catch him if he started to fall forward. John waited another minute before speaking. "How'd those exercises go?"

Dean hung his head and tried to remember the past hour. "F-ine." He had the hiccups; it was kind of hilarious to John, but he tried not to laugh. Kid sometimes used to get the hiccups when he freaked out. John thought he'd outgrown that. And suddenly he was glad he hadn't. It was one more piece of the little boy he'd lost that had remained intact for all these years.

"Keep talking." John wanted to pull his son's mind out of whatever dark place it had wandered into. It was obvious that Dean didn't feel safe there; there was no comfort in that place.

"Fine. I, uh, I coughed a l-ot. It's harder than it was in the h-hospital." Dean said, ashamed. He didn't want to show weakness but he _really_ didn't want to lie to John again. He didn't want to get ousted, but he was being a whiny little kid and not the assistant John signed up for. But, dammit, he _hurt_. He was _sick_. He was so tired, even after sleeping so much lately, and he felt so strung out that he almost forgot his name at times. Hell, he'd forgotten to breathe earlier. _High maintenance, much? Don't be such a baby._ Dean knew that he still needed the Winchesters, at least until he could put together a solid plan. Where he would stay once he left, how he would procure food, a way to make money… The stress of planning his future was a big contributor to his exhaustion, but it needed to be done. He wanted to stay with them indefinitely but he knew that was selfish. He was already putting them in danger, just by being around. They didn't deserve that. They were good people.

And Dean knew how it felt to lose family. He didn't want Sammy or John to _ever_ have to go through that. The longer Dean stuck around, the more likely it was for Winthrop to show up and kill them.

The fact that Dean struggled with this therapy was concerning to his father, but only a little. The doc had mentioned that Dean wouldn't feel as strong as he had in the hospital, where he could use the oxygen anytime he needed it; he wouldn't feel well for a few days at least. "Did you need the inhaler?"

"I was fine." Dean sniffed his nose and avoided eye contact.

"Not what I asked."

Dean bit his lip and scolded himself. His voice was shaky and soft as he looked away and tugged at a loose string from the bed that his hand happened to find on its own. "Just one time."

John noticed his son's body language immediately. "No shame in breathing, kid." Dean didn't answer, nor did he look up. He just sat there, on the bed, looking small and tired. John wanted to go full chick flick and hug him until he felt better. That always used to work when he was little but now… he decided that might have the opposite effect. Maybe his tactics for helping Sam would work better. "Tired?"

"Kinda."

John rolled his eyes. That was _exactly_ what Sam usually said when John asked. Either that or 'nope'. "How about a quick haircut? That'll get rid of all that energy, I'll bet." He didn't actually believe that. The act wasn't that strenuous. But he knew Dean was exhausted; he also knew Dean had been much more tired before in his life and could function well on very little sleep. John figured it would take a while before the kid knew when his body _wanted_ sleep, as opposed to when it was about to shut down. He hadn't had the luxury of secure rest for a long time now, if he ever had it at all. Like it or not, John was going to make sure Dean got on a regular sleeping schedule. He was still sick and not acting quite right. John knew what exhaustion looked like in his kids; stooped posture, zoning out, walking like they weighed a ton, slow to respond, emotional hurricanes. Kid fit the symptoms to a tee. Hopefully a haircut would calm Dean down before he hit the pillow. He might actually sleep then.

John's words made Dean look up. Those exhausted eyes almost looked… afraid? "Nobody's gonna be open this late at night." _They'll see the scars and make a scene. I'd rather have long hair._

"I got a pair of clippers in the trunk. Cheaper than constantly going in myself. Doesn't save much on Sam though. He hates it when I cut his hair. You can probably tell that he hasn't let me do it in a while." Both pairs of eyes fell on Sam, who was on his side, hair splayed over his face, one arm over the edge of the bed, snoring like a congested elephant.

Dean smiled before he knew he was doing it. _Goofball._ He sniffed his nose and ran his arm across his face again, getting rid of all his leaking fluids.

"Sound like a plan?"

Dean looked back to John, nervous, and nodded. He hadn't had an official haircut in… probably two and a half years. The last one had been a 'Lucy Special'; the cruel woman had just gone at him with a pair of old scissors after a teacher called Jerold, saying that he was worried and didn't think Dean was taking care of himself. Dean had no hair the next day, and several suspicious, straight cuts on his scalp. Dean blamed the nonexistent family dog. No one called home about his appearance again after that. A machete cut hair well enough when no one was looking. "Yeah, I guess. It won't hurt, will it?"

John frowned. "Why would it hurt?"

"Nevermind."

"Clippers are in the trunk." John said slowly, trying to figure out how a haircut could be painful. Without thinking, he tossed the keys to Dean, who caught them like a hot potato, eyes wide. He was just staring at John for a few seconds. "Hop to it." John said with a small smile.

"Yes, sir."

When Dean returned, John was going through the folders of information, separating out the things that had to go in together and the things that needed to be submitted on their own, attached to one of many forms. He looked up when Dean came in, locked the door, dropped the keys on the table, and then just stood by the table. _What's he doing this time?_

"How- uh- how do I use it?"

Two minutes later, Dean knew how to use the clippers and had decided to cut his hair short, but not 'Lucy Special' short. John showed him that the blade things wouldn't even hurt if he touched them. They just cut hair. No skin damage whatsoever.

"Sweet." Dean smiled at himself in the mirror of the bathroom as he ran his fingers over the newly shorn fuzz on his head. Long enough to cover his scars, but short enough that it didn't fall in his eyes or tickle his ears anymore. All of a sudden, he saw the person he wanted to be looking back at him. He saw a boy with a healthy glow, well-groomed and dressed in clothes that weren't damaged or too big or small. Granted, his eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks flushed, but that would go away soon. He saw a young man with a spark of life in his eyes, in a room that wasn't dirty or brimming with danger, with a door that wasn't locked- or at least, that he could get through-, living with people who cared whether or not he was hurt or hungry or scared or needed help. He was safe. He was looked after. He was…

 _Loved_?

Dean couldn't let himself think that, as much as he wanted to. He was there to help the Winchesters with cases and everyday tasks, not integrate himself into their family unit. He was help, not kin. And he wouldn't even be help for much longer, not if he could figure out how to stay alive without the father and son duo.

"You okay in there?" John's voice was quiet, speaking from just outside the bathroom door.

Dean couldn't help let his smile grow. It felt good to be looked after. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." _Dad…? Wouldn't be so bad, right? Just a label. Right?_

"You have school tomorrow. Hurry up."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if you did! Big fight scene coming up soon. Not to give spoilers or anything (there's really not a spoiler here, it was bound to happen sometime).**


	18. Don't Stand So Close To Me

**A/N: Vivi here! Tried to post earlier this week but couldn't get it to convert my doc. It worked today though! Yay!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Dean couldn't help let his smile grow. It felt good to be looked after. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." Dad…? Wouldn't be so bad, right? Just a label. Right?_

 _"You have school tomorrow. Hurry up."_

* * *

"Can't we just wait until tomorrow?" Sam whined, coughing a little as he poked at the eggs on his plate. The waitress at the little twenty-four hour diner may have sneered at him as she walked by; she'd probably been there nine hours already. Looked like she had, at least.

"No. It's Monday. You're going to school." John said, not for the first time that morning. He would never understand how Sam could get so excited about school over the summer only to fight his father tooth and nail when it came time to actually start up again. The same thing happened every year.

Dean sat next to Sam in the booth, staring at his own eggs and bacon. His stomach was doing constant flips and knotting itself and he couldn't stop worrying about his first day back to school in… _Shit. It's been two years. How the hell am I going to fit in? I don't remember anything… Didn't think I'd need it ever again._

"Dean, something wrong?" John asked as he watched his oldest push the eggs from one side of the plate to the other for the third time.

Dean shook his head.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm nervous, too. I always am, when I go to a new school. Which happens a lot." Sam sent a sidelong glare at his father, who was tempted to remind Sam that he was still grounded and his sentence could be longer if he kept up with that attitude.

"The alcohol in that cold medicine is probably helping _you_." Dean muttered, stabbing a chunk of scrambled egg with his fork. _What I wouldn't give for some of that stuff right about now._

"You'll be fine. Both of you." John said. "Finish your food."

* * *

Dean visibly paled when John pulled up in front of Temple High School.

There was already a hoard of students making their way into the building, talking amongst themselves and eyeing the awesome car he pulled up in. Dean couldn't have sunk any further into his seat if he tried.

"Here we are." John announced, parking in a visitor spot near the door. "I'll sign you in at the office and do the paperwork. Hopefully you can take the entrance exams today."

"Just my luck to be sick and drugged out for _that_." Sam grumbled, getting out of the car with his trusty old brown canvas backpack in tow. Dean watched him go with wide eyes, catching sight of a curious little charm attached to Sam's bag. It was gold colored, a little head, with horns. He'd have to ask about that later. Maybe when he could think clearly again.

"C'mon, Dean. They don't bite." John tried to encourage the shaking puddle of nervousness that was his son to get out of the car. When the forced calm in John's voice failed to move the boy, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Suck it up, kid. We gotta go." _Tough love, maybe?_

Dean swallowed hard and shuffled out of the car, falling in step close behind John as they entered the high school.

Never in his life had Dean been to a place that required you to walk through a metal detector. Luckily, he had no metal on him- Sam had insisted, knowing what to expect in a huge school- and he thought he successfully kept his mini-panic attack to himself. However, he couldn't remember how he got into the big, beige room with a long, tall counter just in front of the door to get in. That was a little unsettling. He tuned in when John said his name.

"…Dean and Sam Bennett, my sons. Seventeen and thirteen. I have all their papers and forms."

 _Sons._ Dean repeated in his head, watching the back of John's head as he talked to the secretary behind the tall desk. Sam was right beside his father, up on his tip toes to see the woman over the counter and be part of the conversation. Dean stood several feet back from them, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from wringing them or biting his nails. He was pretty sure Sam saw his mutilated fingers at breakfast and mouthed 'gross'. That was embarrassing.

"Have a seat. We'll process the applications and call you when we're ready for them."

* * *

Dean seemed to handle sitting quietly and patiently with nothing to do much better than Sam. John was about out of his mind with all the squirming and pencil flips and frustrated sighs from his youngest. His oldest was blissfully still and quiet, seemingly calming down from his initial shock. No more shaking, sweating, spacing out. He jumped hard when the bell rang for the first class of the day to end, but other than that, he seemed pretty collected. John was actually a little impressed that he was handling the situation this well.

At one point, the students outside the glass office doors were loud enough that John felt okay talking; the sound would be drowned out by the cacophony to anyone more than a few inches away. Leaning down, he spoke as casually as he could to the only well-behaved kid he had. "How long have you been out of school, Dean? Obviously the last ten months, but were you enrolled up to that point? You seem uneasy."

Dean stared down at the fake stone tile linoleum stuff in the waiting area. He tried to keep his voice even and his face expressionless when he replied. He didn't want the shame and fear to slip through. "Two years."

John balked. "You're seventeen! You haven't been to school in _two years_?"

Dean leaned away at the statement. It sounded a lot like an accusation to him. _It wasn't my choice to make._ "I'm eighteen, John. I dropped out to help Jerold. No way I could have graduated anyway."

"Mr. Bennett?" The secretary called over the dull roar just in time for John to stifle his school-inappropriate words about Jerry.

* * *

"I won't be around until about five, if everything goes well." John said, handing each kid a ten dollar bill. "Don't buy drugs. That's for food." His smile was the only way Dean knew that he actually trusted them not to go for a fix.

"What are we supposed to do until five?" Sam asked as they sat in the tiny conference room. Apparently the principal had a few of these rooms, for various reasons. Probably for troublesome kids awaiting a stern talking-to or parents with rather vocal concerns about their children. At least the rooms all had windows.

"Entrance exams."

"Those won't go past three, Dad. All school is over at three." Sam said, looking displeased.

"Then go to the library. _Together_." John motioned at both of them.

Dean took that as an order. _Watch out for Sammy._

"Fine."

"I'll pick you up at five. You can call my cell if you need me. The secretary has the number; you can use the phone here until we get you your own. Remember the code words." John said casually. "I'll be arranging for a rental and interviewing for jobs, so don't be alarmed if I don't answer. Just leave a message, okay? I'll get to it as soon as I can."

"Got it." Sam said quickly, silently excited about getting his own phone again. The last one was smashed in his pocket when he landed on a headstone. That spirit was rather upset that they were trying to burn its earthly remains. Kind of like every vengeful they'd ever hunted ever. Sam hadn't had his own phone in three months.

"O-okay." Dean said hesitantly. _He taught me the code words already? Remember, Dean, remember…_ Nothing came to mind. That definitely didn't make him feel okay.

"You'll do fine."

John was looking right at Dean with one of the most reassuring expressions he thought he'd ever seen. That helped a little. His hands still shook if he didn't put them in his pockets, though.

"Alright, Mr. Bennett." A secretary burst into the room, making Dean jump and catch his breath, coughing loudly. The secretary looked at him like he was nuts, but continued anyway. "They're all set to take their placement exams. You can go now. They'll be done by three, at the latest."

There was a distinct, low, constant, panicked noise in Dean's head, something to the tune of 'ahhhhhhh' as he looked to John. _Don't leave me here._

"Have fun at school, boys." John stood, smiled, and left, but not before whispering 'christo' right into the secretary's ear. She checked out.

* * *

 _What the hell is the Pythagorean theorem?_

 _Who is Octavius?_

 _A rose by any other 'fill in the blank'. Flower shop? Garden? Who needs to know this stuff anyway?_

* * *

 _Nineteen inches._

 _Uh… Oh! Julius Caesar's adopted heir. He took over after Caesar got stabbed to death or something. Rome sounds like a fun place._

 _A rose by any other name. Easy._

* * *

Dean was thoroughly worn- mentally, emotionally, physically from all the tiny panic attacks he rode out all day- and the last thing he wanted to do was go to a library. Lunch had been nice; just he and Sam, together again, in one of those conference rooms. They weren't allowed to talk while they ate the half-decent cafeteria food, but he at least got to see the kid. Made sure he was okay before they were separated again, put in different rooms with that stupid test.

Sam, on the other hand, couldn't wait to go to nerd heaven.

"We'll call your father with the results sometime tonight, boys. Have a nice day." The secretary herded Sam into the waiting room where Dean was already sitting and motioned to the door. She was gone before Dean could even ask where the library was in town.

"How'd it go?" Dean asked as he and Sam left the school through those unnerving metal detectors. The blue sky outside was probably the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. He could actually take a deep breath for the first time in hours.

"It was okay. Those exams are always really hard." Sam took a moment to cough and winced as it ripped through his sore throat like acid. "How about you?"

Dean shrugged. It hadn't seemed that hard to him. Then again, he wouldn't have known a wrong answer if the scribbles he wrote jumped up and bit his finger. "We'll see what the results are, I guess."

"I hope I don't have to repeat eighth grade."

Dean looked down at Sam, confused. "Why would that happen? You're a smart little dude. Even I can see that."

"I'm not little." Sam grumbled, tucking his thumbs under the straps of his backpack as they walked. He resisted the urge to cough; his cold meds were on their way out of his system.

Dean was relieved that they'd gotten done with those exams an hour before the rest of the school let out. He wasn't sure he could handle that many people after the day he'd had. "No, you're not. But you're smaller than me, so I can say you're little. Just be glad I'm not calling you 'munchkin'." Dean grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the smile on his own face.

"You're a jerk."

"Not the first time I've heard that."

"What do you think our house will be like?" Sam asked as they wandered down the sidewalk of a sleepy street, searching for the library or a sign for it.

"It'll probably have at least four walls and a roof. Maybe a door." Dean said, glancing down at Sam to see what he thought of the joke attempt.

"C'mon, Dean. All houses have four walls and a roof and a door."

"Not all houses." Dean said, losing his smile. "I guess it depends what 'house' means to ya."

Sam looked up at Dean but Dean had already looked back down the sidewalk, watching for danger or shady activity or a freaking library sign. "What does house mean to you, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Somewhere out of the rain."

"So an umbrella could be a house?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You don't have to live like that again, dude." Sam said quietly, looking through the windows of the shops to his right while Dean kept watch. "Dad doesn't go back on promises."

"How do you know? Haven't you taken in people before, like you guys did with me? I mean, it was just the two of you when we met. I don't see why anyone would _voluntarily_ leave this life." Dean said. He'd been thinking for some time now that this was just something the Winchesters did. They would find a soul in need and offer them a place in their home, and then when they got tired of them or the person left, they would just find a new one. It made sense to Dean. He hoped he'd be the last one they found, because he had no intention of leaving. They'd only part if he was sent away, at least until he could figure out what he was going to do without them. Needless to say, he _really_ didn't want to be sent away again.

"Dad's never broken a promise to me. Why do you think we had other people before you?" Sam asked with curiosity bubbling in his voice.

Dean finally found what he was looking for. "Library. Half a mile that way." He steered them right at the next intersection and thought for a while before talking again. His hands were pushed into his pockets to stop them from wringing or doing something else that would betray his nerves. "This doesn't seem… I mean, taking care of another person, someone you really don't even know… It's just not something that happens every day, y'know? Like why would your Dad want to drag another teenage boy along with him everywhere he goes, putting his own kid in potential danger, just for a little extra help on hunts? This is a pretty sweet deal for me, but it's not exactly fair to you or your Dad. It's a risk. And keeping me alive between hunts isn't exactly cheap. I'm kinda just dead weight until we're in the thick of it." Dean shrugged again. "It just doesn't make sense to me if I'm the first one you've done this for. And I'm not, right?"

Sam didn't say anything for a good long while. It made Dean nervous. "You are, Dean."

Dean stopped in his tracks, frozen with a look of confusion on his face. "What?"

Sam noticed that Dean had stopped, so he stopped and turned. "Dad's never done anything like this before. I thought he went crazy when he mentioned you coming to live with us." Sam sniffed his nose and winced again at the pain in his throat. He wished he had some tissues; his nose had been running since halfway through the placement exam. "But I'm glad he did. You're cool."

"Why… why did he want me to come with you? It doesn't make sense." Dean went from nervous to unnerved. His skin started to crawl. _What did I get myself into?_

"I don't know. He won't tell me. But he really likes you and so do I. He's a lot more… quiet now than he was. He doesn't frown as much. Maybe he just wanted a buffer so I couldn't argue with him all the time." Sam shrugged and started walking backward very slowly. "Not that you aren't good company or anything. It's just that we haven't had a real argument in a while."

Dean got the hint and they started off for the library once more. "He- he wasn't always nice?"

"No. Usually he's really strict and grumpy. I think it's because Mom died when I was little and got stuck raising me alone." Sam looked to the ground as they walked, his shoulders hunched, making him look smaller than he really was. "And I know I'm not easy to get along with."

"Your Mom died when you were little?" Dean asked, surprised at this sudden admission. _Could he… Could they…_ Dean shook his head to get the ridiculous thoughts out of his head. There was no way Sam could be his dead brother; Sam was too young, by at least a year. Dean was eighteen; his baby brother had been under a year when… it happened, and Dean was six then. That was almost thirteen years ago. His brother would be fourteen by this time, at least. He wished he could remember the baby's birthday. Or even what season it was when he was born. Then again, he couldn't remember his own birthday, so he didn't have much hope of remembering the baby's.

"Yeah, I was like six months old or something. Our house burned down. Dad thinks a creature started the fire. Something that looks like a man but… isn't." Sam sighed. "I know that narrows it down a lot, doesn't it? But that's just about all we look for. That thing and vampires."

"Why… those?" Dean said quietly, not wanting the people at the bus stop they walked past to hear the conversation.

"Dad just really hates 'em. You and him agree on that, don't ya? He said they almost killed me when I was little. I don't remember anything about it, but he's been trying to find this one nest forever. The, uh, the ones who almost killed me. He killed a lot of them after I was safe, and a few more over the years, but there's still like… three or four, I think, we're still looking for. I don't know. Seems pointless to me. I'm okay now."

"Y'know, they never forget a scent. You have to kill 'em all or they'll come back, like cockroaches. They gang up on you if they find you." Dean said as he finally spotted the library in the distance. _Gotta get away from John and Sam soon. Why did I think staying with them was a good idea? If Winthrop shows up, he'll take me and spread the word about Sammy. Whatever SOB wants him will show up to get revenge for their nest._

"Yeah, but they've never found us. We always find them. Sometimes I think it's just Dad's way of getting away from me for a while. I don't even know if his story is true."

"Why's that?"

"He leaves me with Uncle Bobby when he finds a nest. I never get to meet his hunting buddies because he always dumps me before he heads out. And he's always gone for a couple days, at least." Sam kicked at an abandoned Styrofoam cup on the sidewalk, sounding dejected.

"Huh. Sounds like a good way to keep you safe." Dean tried to keep his expression clear as he tried to process this new information. _What is going on? John loves Sam. I can see that. Anyone with a brain can see that. There's no way he's trying to step away from the kid or distance himself... He could have just pushed Sam away like Jerold did to me. Then again, maybe this is a way normal families do things. Parents go off on a 'business trip', leave the kids with somebody else for a while. Maybe he just wanted a reliable babysitter for Sam and I was the first candidate he found. That makes sense. Get another hunter to rely on you and have that hunter watch your kid while you go off for a break. Not really the easiest way to do things, but it makes more sense than picking a random kid off the street and adopting him just like that._

"I guess, but I'm getting older and I can _help_ now. And he still won't take me."

Dean didn't have anything to say to that. It made perfect sense to him why John would leave Sam somewhere secure before diving into a nest; Dean didn't think that the man was faking a hunt when he left Sam behind. If it were Dean, he would do the same thing to protect Sam from the unnatural. The kid was a treasure in his Dad's eyes. Dean's view wasn't so different.

There was easy silence between the two for a few minutes as they walked toward the library. Then, the silence was broken. Dean still couldn't believe his ears. "So I'm the only one you've done this for?"

"It's always been just us. So yeah. Welcome to our screwed up family."

 _He says that like it's a bad thing._ Dean smiled to himself. _I'll take any family I can get._ "It's an honor."

"If you say so."

"I do. Hey, why does your backpack look so huge already? We haven't even been to class yet."

"I got stuff I carry around. Y'know, books, my journal-"

"Uh oh, baby boy's got a diary." Dean immediately stepped in front of Sam to stop him from going any further, since Sam was on his right and his right arm was still in a sling. Four men, a little older than Dean probably, came out from behind a squat brick building just in front of them. They were definitely locals and they looked like the rough kind. Tattoos spotting their skin, baggy pants, tight tank tops, ball caps that were on backwards, and expensive looking sneakers. Dean tensed up even more when he realized one of the tattoos looked like a gang symbol he'd seen on a poster at the school. One of those 'Gang Up Against Gangs' posters that made absolutely no sense.

"I think we scared big bro, fellas. Look at 'im shakin'." A second man spoke; the first had a red cap, while this one had a black cap with matching, perfectly spotless sneakers.

"I think we just found us one of those 'profitable ventures', huh?" The third guy who spoke, seeming much more enthusiastic- or maybe hyperactive- than the others had black pants and a white tank top on and he kind of bounced when he walked.

"What brings you to our neighborhood, children?" The ringleader stepped out front; it was obvious that he ran the show. The rest of them crowded beside or behind him as he crossed his arms and grinned at the boys. A plain red strip of cloth was tied around his bicep, reminding Dean of the unmistakable band the Nazi's used to wear. Dean put himself directly between the men and Sam without thinking, pushing Sam back a step.

"We were looking for the library." Sam said, moving out from behind Dean, much to Dean's dismay. At least the kid went left, where Dean could hold him back if he tried to move forward at all.

"School's not out yet, is it, boys?" The men behind Red Band guy shook their heads and eyed Sam and Dean like they were sheep for the slaughter. "I don't believe you. You know what happens to truant kiddies in our neighborhood? They go missin'." Each word out of the man's mouth was emphasized, so much so that Dean wondered if he had a speech impediment he was trying to mask.

"Yeah. 'Cept family. Family don' get lost around 'ere." Black Pants added in from the back of the group. He had taken to staring at Sam. Dean didn't like it.

"And yous ain't family." Red Cap said loudly, moving to stand beside Red Band with his arms crossed.

Dean's skin started to crawl when he saw the teardrop tattoos that some of the men sported. _Oh shit. No just petty criminals._ "Run, Sam. I'll hold 'em off." Dean hissed quietly, pushing on Sam's chest, trying to get him to leave.

"No! They'll hurt you- you can't fight with that arm." Sam swatted Dean's hand away and stood beside him confidently. "We just wanna go read some books, mister." It still amazed Dean just how young and innocent Sam could look and sound when he really tried. "Our Dad's gonna pick us up soon and we hafta be done finding our books when he comes."

"Books are the last thing you should be worryin' about little man." Red Band said with a wicked smile. "Why don't you show me your wallets, huh? Pretty pair like you gotta have some notes on ya."

"We don't want any trouble." Dean said firmly. He'd dealt with situations like this before, in the past year, but never with his body in such bad shape. Even with Sam helping him- which he really wanted to avoid at all costs- he wasn't sure they could make it out in one piece. "Look, we'll go back the way we came and everyone can just forget this happened."

"I don' think so, gimpy." Black Pants said in a low, threatening voice. "Wallets. Now."

"Why do you want my notes? My handwriting is real bad." Sam said innocently. He was fully aware that 'notes' was slang for money, but the longer he could stall the gang, the better chance they had of escaping while there were witnesses nearby. Sam didn't think the men would attack them if someone was around to call the police. Unfortunately, this road wasn't a busy one and Sam and Dean were apparently the only ones stupid enough to go walking down the sidewalk. Sam hadn't noticed until just then that they were alone.

"Cash, kid. Greens. C'mon, you ain't- he ain't dull, is he?" Red Cap asked Dean, frustration thick in his tone.

"We just wanna leave, okay? We don't have anything you'd want; I don't have my wallet and he doesn't even _have_ a wallet yet. Most expensive thing we got is a calculator." Dean raised his good hand submissively and quickly looked to see if any of them had a gun or a knife. At least two had knives that were visible, but he couldn't see a gun yet.

"They won't take my calculator, Max, will they? Please don't let them." Sam looked up at Dean with faked pleading, worried eyes.

"It's just a calculator, Rudy. You found it in the 'lost and found' bin, remember? If they want it, they can have it." Dean said sternly, still trying to get Sam to run while keeping up the charade until he actually did so.

"But Max-"

"Keep the goddam calculator, kid. If you twos don't got nothin' to bargain with, we're just gonna have to take out our frustrations and then search yous. That sound like how you want this to go down, gimpy? Bet that kid makes for a real good punching bag, eh, fellas?" Red Band took a few steps closer to Dean, prompting the rest of the group to follow. Dean shoved Sam behind him and backed up a few steps, putting some distance between Sam and the threat.

Dean felt rage start to pool in his stomach. _You're gonna regret threating him._ "If you hurt him, I'll kill you." Dean growled, meaning every word. Heat rushed to his chest and he felt something he'd only ever felt for his beads, at least that he could remember: protectiveness. _I'll bury the man who hurts my kid. Wait…_ my _kid? When did that happen?_

"What are you doing?" Sam hissed from behind him. "You're gonna start something."

Dean answered by trying to turn the kid around behind him. Sam wasn't having it.

"Is that a threat?" Red Band fisted his hands and puffed his chest in anger as he waited for an answer. His friends started to gear up for a fight.

"What does it sound like, bitch?" _He'll have time to get away if I stall long enough._ Dean pulled his sling off and tossed it against the building to his right as the gang started coming at them. He rolled his shoulders, gauging how the right would respond. It hurt quite a bit, especially after the incident last night, but not bad enough to let some assholes lay their hands on his kid. With one final shove at Sam, desperately hoping he'd run, Dean lunged forward.

The men spread out as they ran at the boys, with Black Pants and Red Cap in front. They accidentally gave Dean the perfect angle to plant his foot on Black Pants' chest and propel him backwards to the ground with the full force of his sprint. He hit hard, snapping his head back as he collided with the ground. Behind that guy were Black Cap and Red Band, who both charged Dean with murder in their eyes.

Dean had been in that situation before; never with werewolves, granted, but in bar brawls. Two against one was never a fair fight, but Dean had learned on his own how to take the upper hand in those situations. He waited until they were about five feet away before he shot forward, tackling Back Cap's legs and taking him down. The only downside to that plan of action was that it left him momentarily vulnerable while he got up.

Red Band did not hesitate to plant his boot into Dean's right side. It hurt something fierce- Dean couldn't breathe for a few seconds- but at least it wasn't where his stitches were almost healed. Dean stumbled away on his good hand and legs a few feet before righting himself and turning to face Red Band.

Dean's heart nearly stopped when he saw Red Cap, three inch knife in hand, headed straight for Sam. Time slowed down as the man approached Dean's kid. Sam had already taken his backpack off of his shoulders and was holding it out in front of himself like a shield. _God, I hope that thing is thick enough to stop-_

Sam threw his bag at Red Cap's head, distracting him long enough for Sam's gray sneaker to nearly disappear in the baggy folds of the man's pants. Red Cap dropped his knife immediately and both his hands flew down to protect himself as he made a kind of strangled squeaking sound.

Red Band had already launched a right hook straight at Dean's face, but Dean saw him move in enough time to pull back the few inches it would take for the fist to miss his cheek. Dean shoved Red Band's arm down as the fist passed him and sent his own right hook into the back of the man's jaw. His shoulder went numb with the impact that reverberated through his arm, but the hit was worth it. Dean knew he was clumsy with his left hand in a fight; this wasn't the first time his right had been down.

Craning his neck, Dean tried desperately to see if Sam was still okay. His world went white as Red Band clamped down on Dean's right shoulder with his free left hand, shoving Dean's right arm and fist away from the man's reddening face. The sound that left Dean could be heard for blocks.

It only served as fuel for the natural born hunter to eliminate the threat.

Red Band kept his grip while he went for a groin shot to top it off. Dean moved just enough to keep the blow from doubling him over- he had a pretty high pain tolerance in that region from all the hits he'd taken over the years- before returning the blow. Red Band groaned loudly and closed his eyes, letting up a little on Dean's shoulder while his other hand went to protect himself from further harm. Dean planted a poorly aimed left hook on the other side of the man's face, sending the guy stumbling to one side while still holding onto Dean. Waves of pain bombarded Dean from his shoulder and side, but the sooner he ended this guy, the sooner he could make sure Sam was okay. And God help the man with red hands if Sam wasn't okay.

One crisp uppercut to Red Band's chin was all it took for the man to let go and fall limply to the sidewalk in front of Dean. Seeing that the man wasn't moving any longer, Dean whipped around to find Sam.

The teen almost growled when Black Cap blocked his view of the kid and Red Cap, his stupid backwards black hat sitting askew on his head from the fall he'd taken. Dean took the offensive role this time, charging forward with his right arm cocked and ready to go, no matter how loud it screamed in his head or how hot it burned under his shirt.

Black Cap ducked and Dean missed his first punch. The man took a play out of Dean's book and slammed his shoulder into Dean's stomach, sending both of them crashing to the concrete. Black Cap was no scrawny boy; Dean would have bruises on his bruises from all the weight his back had to take as it hit the sidewalk. His head hit pretty hard, too, but he didn't pass out, so he took that as a win.

Without thinking, Dean wrapped his hands around Black Cap's neck, closing off his airway and sending the man into a frenzy as he tried to rip Dean's hands away. He clawed wildly at Dean's fingers with his own but there was no way he could get away and Dean knew it. Dean had done this to kill werewolves before; choke them until they pass out and then use the silver knife that was knocked out of his clumsy hands before Jerold found out he screwed up and decided nearly dying wasn't punishment enough.

Dean wouldn't kill this guy, though. John said they don't kill humans and Dean would respect John's rules. But this SOB _would_ face his consequences here and now. Dean held on until the man stopped moving.

And got kicked in the head for it. Black Pants was back with a vengeance, kicking his left arm next. Dean managed to roll out from under Black Cap's body in time to miss a third kick, getting to his feet in record time.

Dean was seeing red. He planted a fist with the momentum of his entire body directly in the center of Black Pants' face before the man even saw it coming. A knife toppled to the ground, clattering into the gutter of the street. Black Pants followed suit. He went still on the sidewalk, officially down for the count.

"Sam?" Dean called, whirling around, looking for the kid. He had to reach out and hold himself against the building; he was dizzy from turning too fast and getting more and more nauseous by the second. His vision began to swim and he blinked hard, trying to clear it so he could _find the kid_. If he could only rub his eyes, he was sure he could pull himself out of this. However, his only free hand hung limply by his right side, unresponsive at the moment.

"Dean." Sam was right in front of him when his vision cleared. He was holding on to Dean's left shoulder, trying to steady him. "Dean, c'mon. Look at me. Are you okay?"

Dean looked over Sam's head and saw Red Cap on the sidewalk, not moving, face down. He looked back to Sam, who didn't look like he was in pain. He just looked worried. "Hurt?" Dean asked, doing a quick visual inspection looking for blood, tears in clothing, unnatural angles- anything out of place. Dean needed to know if he would have to break John's rule. The men knew the stakes going into the fight.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" Sam asked, taking his turn to look over Dean. "Where's your inhaler?"

Dean stared at Sam in confusion. Then his lungs sent an urgent bulletin to his brain: _can't breathe._ Dean felt his eyes go wide as he tried to draw in a deep breath and couldn't; he probably hadn't been able to since that guy landed on him. _Damn pneumonia. I'm never getting sick again._ His vision started to swim once more and he leaned harder on the wall. _This isn't happening. Why did I do this with Sam still in danger? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Get a grip, Dean. He needs you._

Before he knew it, something cool and smooth was pushing against his lips. "Deep breath."

 _I can't_. Dean wanted to say. He felt the cold puff and tried his best anyway. _It's not helping. It's not helping…_ If there was one thing that terrified Dean, it was not being able to breathe. Being drowned, being choked, being infected with pneumonia; he felt his body start to panic. Dean hung his head and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on breathing. Trying to stay calm for Sam.

"You're okay, Dean. You're gonna be okay." Sam said softly, his hand never leaving Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't even flinch when Sam peeled open one eye at a time and took a close look. "Your pupils are different sizes." He said quietly, nervously. "We gotta get somewhere you can sit for a while. Ready for the second one?"

Dean nodded slowly so he wouldn't make himself dizzy again. He looked at Sam after a few seconds and saw the kid holding the inhaler out to him. Numbly, Dean let go of the wall and allowed his body to fall into it, supporting himself on his left shoulder instead of his aching left arm. The action scared Sam, but Dean took the inhaler out of his hand and used it anyway. He tucked the device back in his pocket, where it was supposed to live. Dean wasn't sure if he'd dropped it during the fight or if Sam had fished it out.

"Why… why didn't you use your right hand?" Sam asked, his tone taking on more and more worry with every sentence.

Dean waited until the world stopped spinning to hunt down his sling. When he found it, he shoved part of it in his back pocket and went to check the unconscious men. Red Band was still down but breathing. Black Pants was practically snoring now that his nose was broken. Black Cap had resumed breathing as soon as Dean let go of his neck, but was still unconscious. Red Cap, the man who attacked Sam, was also out cold, a pretty little goose egg forming on his right temple. These guys didn't know how lucky they were that Sam didn't have a scratch on him.

"Dean, why won't your arm work?" Sam demanded, following him as he went from man to man, his right arm hanging limply by his side.

"Hurts." Dean said, finally able to at least get enough air to live off of.

"But it's not moving _at all_."

"It will." Dean pulled the sling out of his pocket and took his time putting it on, trying not to damage his joint any more than it already was. Biting, aching fire throbbed in his shoulder and he was pretty sure he could feel every tendon and muscle protesting individually, all contributing to the same roar in his head. His other pains weren't so bad. He'd deal with those later, hopefully before John found out about this incident. If he ever found out.

"Why did you take the sling off in the first place?" Sam was getting angry. He'd been trying so hard to diffuse the situation and then Dean went and insulted the jerks. Got himself hurt in the process. But Sam also felt relieved that Dean had been there in the first place. He was sure that if he'd been walking alone, something worse than a beating could have happened. _Why did he go so far to get them away from me? He could've just run. I woulda followed him._

"I can't do much with my left hand, Sam. Clumsy, y'know." Dean panted slowly, reveling in the way oxygen could enter his slowly dilating airways. "I had to."

"But you hurt yourself. And they hurt you." Sam tried to contain his hormone-enhanced emotions as he went and grabbed his backpack off the sidewalk near Red Cap.

Dean tensed up as Sam went near the attacker and didn't take his eyes off the man until he pushed Sam down the sidewalk. They were walking as fast as they could away from the crime scene but it still wasn't fast enough for Dean. He kept his good hand on Sam's shoulder as they walked side by side, the older constantly scanning their surroundings while the younger navigated their way out of the neighborhood.

"I don't need to be walked around like a kid." Sam snapped, trying to shrug Dean's hand off of his shoulder when the men were out of sight.

"I know." Dean said, glancing behind them, pointedly _not_ removing his hand.

"Seriously, Dean." Sam was glaring at the man, who was looking everywhere but at him. It donned on Sam that he was looking for threats, kind of like how Dad always did. Dean was still protecting him. And… he may have listed to the side a few times and steadied himself using Sam's shoulder. That was part of it too. Sam was pretty sure.

"I'm serious too, Sam. I know you aren't a child and you can protect yourself. You took out that creep singlehandedly. It was kinda awesome. But I need to keep track of you while I don't have a visual on you. I- I just… Just let me do this, okay?"

"If you let go, could you walk a straight line?" Sam asked flatly, returning his gaze to the sidewalk in front of them and not swiping Dean's hand away.

"What do you think?" Dean muttered.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Leave me some words! See you _very_ soon!**


	19. Walk This Way

**A/N: Vivi here! Bonus chapter!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"If you let go, could you walk a straight line?" Sam asked flatly, returning his gaze to the sidewalk in front of them and not swiping Dean's hand away._

 _"What do you think?" Dean muttered._

* * *

"Seriously, Sam?" Dean whispered, holding the book that Sam handed him out in front of him like it would bite. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Read it. Or at least look like you are." Sam said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. He had three books in his arms already and they hadn't even made it to the J's in the young adult section of the library.

Dean glared down at the little white book. 'Brave New World'. _Of course he would pick this one._

"We'll go sit in one of the private study rooms and read. Nobody can see us there. You can rest if you need to. But no sleeping." Sam took another book from the shelf and turned to Dean. "C'mon."

* * *

It wasn't so bad. The room really was private, and it wasn't too small. Both boys had plenty of room to stretch out. Sam put his feet up on the table in the room as he read, and Dean rested his head on his good arm, which was flat on the table, trying to stop the pounding that beat at the inside of his skull.

* * *

Dean must've fallen asleep, because he woke to Sam's voice, uncomfortably loud in the small space.

"Hi, Dad." Sam said, putting his feet down and collecting his things as John swung the door open and smiled.

"How was school?" He asked quietly with a smile on his face. _Dean's not a nervous puddle anymore. That's a good sign._ The smile faded quickly as he took in the pain that was obvious in Dean's face and posture. _That from last night? I didn't think his shoulder was_ that _bad._

"Long."

"It was okay." Dean got up and grabbed his book, trying his hardest to move naturally and not baby his bumps and bruises. John didn't need to know how bad it was. Sam didn't know, he hadn't seen much of Dean's side of the fight, so as long as Dean played it off well enough, they would be none the wiser. They didn't need him to be any more of a dead weight than he already was.

Dean didn't want to be sent away because he kept getting himself hurt.

"Can we get library cards before we go?" Sam asked, his eyes hopeful as they left the study room. "This book is really good and Dean found one too."

 _Lies._ Dean rolled his eyes but made no move toward the young adult section to return the book to its shelf. He secretly wanted to take it, but he figured they'd be back eventually. And it wasn't like he could read it any time soon anyway; focusing on something that close would really, really hurt right now. Even the lights in the excessively bright little room hurt.

"Make it quick. We gotta get moved in." John lightly pushed Sam toward the checkout counter, where several pleasant older women were scanning books for patrons to take home.

"Let's go, Dean." Sam started running, only to slow suddenly when he realized he would be yelled at if he ran in a library. Dean laughed quietly, a harsh, pained sound, and used his longer legs to catch up quickly. He tried not to alter his gait.

It didn't take long for them to get library cards. John showed the woman at the counter two forged Texas state ID cards; not driver's licenses, but little plastic cards with the boys' pictures that said they were Sam and Dean Bennett. Dean wondered how John got a picture of him to use on the card, but he was satisfied enough with the book in his hand as they left the big building that he didn't linger on the subject.

"I picked up a backpack for you, Dean." John said as they got in the car. "Realized we didn't get one when we got the clothes."

Dean almost sat on it. The thing was on the back seat, in his spot, when the boys got in. He pulled it into his lap and closed the door, buckling his seatbelt before looking at it. A smile spread across his face. It was sturdy canvas just like Sam's but a dark green color. It had two big pockets and a couple smaller ones on the outside. _I could fit my shotgun in this thing. Ammunition too. Awesome_. "Thanks, John."

"Look inside."

Sam leaned over in his infinite curiosity as Dean opened the biggest pocket. He found a pack of pencils, a binder, a notebook, some paper, and two other things. It was the other things that caught his eye. "What's this?" Dean asked as he pulled on a small leather cord. A necklace emerged from the bottom of the bag; it had a small circular pendant with markings on it that Dean had never seen before.

"It's a possession charm." Sam said quickly, grabbing the pendant to look at it.

Dean had to try so hard not to rip it out of Sam's hands and put it back in his bag. _Just went through all that to protect him and now… He'll give it back. He's not taking it. Just be patient and don't freak out._ He knew he was reaching his stress/pain limit, but he couldn't hurt Sam. Kid didn't deserve it. And even if he did, Dean didn't think he would have the nerve to lay one malicious hand on the little ball of sunshine.

John looked back in the mirror and saw Sam take the pendant. He also saw Dean trying not to make a scene; the kid couldn't stop staring at his stolen property. _He's so used to people trying to take things from him. Sam doesn't know how close he was to getting knocked out._ "Sam give the pendant back to y-" John almost bit his tongue. _Your brother._ "Dean." _Not yet. We need to get settled first. Dean will panic, he'll lose it if he doesn't feel safe with us._ _He'll run._

"I was just looking at it." Sam grumbled, passing the cord back to Dean, who readily put it around his neck. Sam wouldn't take it again if he was wearing it. He was pretty sure.

"Check the front pocket, kid."

Dean pulled out the journal John got the night before. He ran his thumb over the smooth cover and turned it over a few times before carefully opening it. He'd thought it was a book but the pages were blank with only lines on them. Confusion was written all over his face when he looked into the rearview mirror.

"It's a journal." John's voice was lighthearted as he took in his son's familiar confusion. "I have one, Sam has one. Now you have one."

"What's it for?"

John laughed. "You write in it. Whatever you want. I use mine as a case archive. Sammy's is full of angsty rants about me."

Sam blushed and looked out his window. "It is not."

"Any way you want to use it, it's yours." John turned down the street where their supposed rental was located.

"Thanks. I might not use it for a while, though."

"Why's that?"

"I'm right handed." Dean's voice was quiet and sad as he put everything back in the bag and closed it. Just by chance, Dean glanced over at Sam and found him staring. It was like the kid was trying to decide on something. Dean's eyes got wide and he shook his head, mouthing _no no no no_ as Sam looked to his father.

"We got jumped on the way to the library." Sam said nonchalantly, as if that kind of thing happened every day.

"What?" John snapped, swerving slightly as he turned to glance over both kids. "Are you hurt? What happened?" Adrenaline pulsed quick and hot through John's veins even though he already knew that both boys could walk and talk just fine. That in itself was reassuring, but only just.

"I'm fine. Dean's not. It was four guys, from a gang I think. They wanted money. We tried to get away but they attacked us. I knocked one out and Dean got the other three." Sam shrugged. "Dean had an asthma attack afterwards. I had to give him his inhaler."

"Dude." Dean hissed, feeling his cheeks get hot.

"Are you alright, Dean?" John was trying to catch enough of their body language through the rearview mirror to decide if they were telling the truth or not. Dean's embarrassment was a pretty strong signal.

"I'm fine. It went away really fast. No big deal."

"And his arm won't work anymore."

" _Sam_." Dean growled quietly as he stared the kid down. "Stop."

"What happened to your arm?"

Dean couldn't hide the anxiety that flooded him. _If he wasn't mad yesterday, he won't be mad now, right? But- but my arm actually worked okay yesterday, I didn't ruin it then. Now…_ "N-nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

 _Damn it! Why did I do that? He knows when I'm lying. He'll never trust me if I keep this up. What if he decides I'm a lying thief and kicks me to the curb? I don't have a plan b and I can't do_ that _again. Never again._ "I'm sorry." Dean forced the words out, but they were quiet and hesitant. He couldn't look up and see the disappointment on John's face.

"Answer the question, Dean." John said calmly, watching Dean's face get more and more pale as they spoke. He was impressed by how quickly he could suppress his anger now that Dean was around. It wasn't anything Dean was doing. Well, maybe a little. John had to control himself fast nowadays or risk sending Dean into an episode. And John _hated_ watching his little boy get shaky and go through that familiar panic over and over.

"I, uh… I- I had to take the- the sling off again. I'm sorry, sir." Dean sounded weak, even to himself. There were a lot of emotions flooding his brain and with the rest of his body sending pleas for help to the same place, nothing was getting regulated. Dean started to get dizzy again and held on to his seat so he wouldn't fall over.

"You fought with it, didn't you." It was more statement than question because John already knew the answer.

"Yes, sir."

"He was trying to keep them away from me, Dad. It wasn't his fault." Sam said quickly, realizing that what he thought would simply be a good way to tell his father what had transpired- and maybe get Dean to admit where he hurt- turned out to be a good way to send Dean into a nosedive. Sam didn't think Dad would ask so many questions. He should have known better.

"I understand that, Sam. Dean's not in trouble and neither are you. Everybody clear on that?"

Sam nodded and coughed a few times, but Dean seemed to have zoned out. _Dammit. Not another one of these._ "Dean." John called, watching in the mirror for a reaction. "Hey, Dean. Look at me, kiddo."

Dean's eyes snapped up, fear swirling around in them like a whirlpool.

"I'm not mad, Dean. It wasn't your fault. And thank you for watching out for Sammy."

All Dean could do was nod weakly and sit on his shaking hand. He tried to take deep breaths but he knew it was a fool's errand. He couldn't breathe well in situations like these back before he had pneumonia. Why would that change now?

"What did the police say?" John asked as he pulled into the dirt driveway of their rental and shut the car off.

"We didn't call the police." Sam said, realizing his mistake. "Sorry."

"You didn't call the police? Why the hell not?" _Tone it down, John. You have to be there for them. You've already failed them today; don't make it any worse. Dean's still shaking so calm down. Just calm down, dammit._

 _Car is parked, door's unlocked. I can run if… if… I need to. If I have to._ Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he focused on slowing his heart rate. The pounding was doing nothing good for his head or his aching body.

"We don't have phones, Dad. There wasn't anybody else around and there weren't any stores open near where we got jumped. When we walked to the library I just forgot." Sam hung his head and scratched at the back of his neck. "I just forgot."

John could tell immediately that Sam was telling the truth. "I picked up a couple burners today. I'll let this one slide but if it _ever_ happens again, you call the boys in blue, got it?"

A chorus of 'yes, sir' sounded in the back seat.

"I don't care if we're on the bad side of the law. If someone- a human- gets physical with one of you and you can't handle the situation, you _always_ either get somewhere guaranteed safe or you call the police as soon as you can. Now… hunts are a different story. Neither of you are old enough to be hunting on your own, so we'll deal with distress signals when the time comes. You shouldn't be out of my sight at any time under any circumstances without a direct order from me while we're working. Understood?"

 _Like hell I'm not old enough. I've been hunting alone for years and keeping Jerold alive for even more._ Dean frowned when he remembered that the only reason Jerold was dead and Lucy kicked him out and forced him into the streets was because Dean couldn't keep Jerold alive. Dean got the flu. While he was at home with Lucy, puking his guts out every five minutes while trying to clean the kitchen floor, Jerold was having his guts ripped out by an angry werewolf. It was Dean's fault Jerold was dead. Dean put _himself_ out of house and home when he begged to stay back; in his defense, he could barely walk. Jerold had used him as bait before, but never when he didn't even have a chance at getting away. The man wasn't a monster.

"We get it, Dad." Sam almost rolled his eyes. He knew Dad had their best interests in mind, but the overbearing protectiveness got old real fast now that Sam was getting older. He was more independent now and it hurt his pride to have to admit that he still needed Dad's help with a lot of things. Like hunts, getting enough food, having a roof over his head… math homework. Though Sam had to admit that the 'papa bear' act had saved his life more than a few times.

"I want to see that arm later, Dean. We're going to have a good long talk about this."

* * *

"Why do I have to share a room with you?" Sam whined to his father, wincing as his throat clawed at him. "Dean has his own. I could just sleep on the couch."

"Sam, drop it. I'm not letting you sleep that close to the door. We're going to be here for a while and something might find us. I want at least a few seconds warning before it's close enough to hurt anyone."

"But nothing has ever found us, Dad. And you snore." Sam followed his father out of the small bedroom that held only a queen sized bed in a creaky metal frame. "This isn't fair."

"It's perfectly fair. My job is to keep you safe, not make you happy." John said. He was pleased to find that everything was still just as it was when he visited the house earlier with the landlord. She was a nice, older lady who happily sold John all the well-used things the last tenant left for just a hundred dollars. They got one queen sized bed, a set of bunkbeds, a card table with four folding chairs, a plaid loveseat that looked like it had seen better days, a beat up end table, and an old tube TV that had a testy VHS player built in. All in all, it was a pretty good deal. John gave Sam the top bunk while he settled with the bottom, since he knew the kid wouldn't stand to sleep in the larger bed with him. That left the queen sized bed for Dean.

"But Dean gets his own room." Sam whined, trailing his father back outside to the car, where Dean was trying to heave his duffel out of the trunk.

John ignored the mop of brown hair following him and focused on the shorter brown hair. _Shouldn't be having that much trouble._ "Somethin' wrong, Dean?" John came up beside him and tossed Sam his duffel before grabbing the two gear duffels.

"Nope."

 _Such a Sam answer. These boys…_ John rolled his eyes and headed back inside, dumping his things in the bunk bed room before returning for his clothing duffel and the med kit. He passed Dean in the kitchen, which was where the front door led to, and saw him wince as he stepped hard on his right foot to get out of John's way. "You got the second door on the left."

"Yes, sir."

Sam was out at the car again when John returned, pawing through the shopping bags that littered the trunk. "What is all this stuff?"

"Sheets. Those mattresses aren't pretty. Uh… some cleaning stuff. And food for the week." John watched as Sam rooted around a bit more. He laughed when his son donned the most hilarious confused face, his hand cradling a lone potato. "Yes, Sam. It's real, actual food. The kind you make in your _own_ kitchen."

Sam continued staring at the potato while John gathered up most of the bags and headed inside. _This'll be fun._ Sam thought, feeling uneasy. _Dad's home cooking. Hope it's not as bad as I remember._

"Need help with anything else?" Sam turned and saw Dean at the door, waiting for an answer.

"No, I got it." The rest of the bags fit easily over Sam's arms and he lugged them in, setting them carefully on the counter.

"Alright, cold stuff in the fridge, sheets in the laundry bag. We need to pick up the pace if we're gonna make it to the clinic before it closes." John said as he carefully went through the shopping bags.

"Clinic?" Dean snapped to attention from where he had been collecting the three packages of sheets near the loveseat, where their bags ended up. Nervous energy swirled around his belly. _I'm not that bad. I- I promise._

"Sam's still sick. Why? Do you need to be checked out, too?" John tried to analyze the expression on Dean's face, but that professional mask fell into place just in time.

"No, I'm fine. Just a little sore."

"Good."John watched Dean resume trying to open the packages with one hand. _What if something is really wrong and he's just not telling me? Sam would tell me, but what if Sam doesn't know? What if he didn't see?_ "Sure you're okay, Dean? The laundry isn't as important as your health, y'know."

"I'm okay." Dean purposefully didn't look up from the sheets in his hand.

 _Well, if he says he's okay, he's okay enough to not deteriorate while we're away. Then again, what if he's lying? Maybe I shouldn't…_ "Can I ask a favor?"

"Yes, sir." Dean looked up and continued trying to pry the plastic wrap off the sheets while listening to John's orders.

"If you think you can, would you go to the laundromat down the road from the clinic and wash some clothes? It's okay if you're not up to it, we can do it after Sam's appointment." John watched as hesitation flashed across Dean's face.

"I can do that, no problem." _I'll just have to go slow with the laundry bag, that's all. And not let it hit my stitches. Or the bruises. And folding will take a while, but that's not a big deal._

"Great."

* * *

John handed Dean the peanut butter jar full of quarters. He was still worried that Dean was hiding an injury, but how hard could washing clothes be? At least he was able to carry that massive bag without too much strain. "We'll be back in an hour or two. No rush."

"Yes, sir." Dean said, holding perfectly still as another dizzy spell washed over his brain and twisted his world.

"Are you absolutely sure you can do this? It's not a big deal for all of us to come back after the appointment." John said, almost pleading with the boy. _Don't hide the pain, kid. Please. I thought we were over that. Just trust me, will you? Oh, before I forget again…_ Almost as an afterthought, John reached into his pocket and pulled out Dean's new phone. "Here."

Dean set the bag down and took the phone, stuffing it in his pocket. "It's just laundry, John. I'll be fine." Dean gathered up the bag and turned with his load to enter the building. He only allowed himself to wince once his face was out of John's sight. The bag tugged on his body and sent cramps down his bruised back. He tried to move without showing pain.

"We'll be back soon. Just stay here when you're done." John called after him with a frown and a sigh. Sam, who was still sitting in the Impala, started coughing and pulled John from his thoughts.

* * *

Just a case of strep throat. John was relieved that it wasn't something worse, but his son was obviously miserable. The rushed doctor at the clinic prescribed an antibiotic and some cough medicine within the first five minutes of seeing Sam. They'd waited an hour and a half for that visit and it had lasted a total of eight minutes.

Not that John minded. He was anxious to get back to Dean; something just didn't sit right with him about leaving the kid alone like they had. What if he was actually really hurt? Or someone decided to pick a fight with him again? What if he ran off? It would be hard for John to find him again in a city this size. Especially now that it was getting pretty dark out. And he was still so weak, anyone could do _anything_ to him. John didn't know what he'd do if something like that happened, but he knew one thing: heads would roll.

"Sit tight, Sam. We'll be right out." John left Sam in the Impala, miserably staring out the window with his prescription bag in his lap.

The laundromat wasn't crowded. One older woman with curly brown hair, a slouching kid about Dean's age with short black hair reading a textbook in the corner, a soccer mom with her hair in a tight pony tail folding unmentionables shamelessly on one of the machines near the windows.

But no Dean.

* * *

 **A/N: Cliffhanger. Sorry not sorry. Leave me words; what is your favorite part of this fic? What do you hate? What would you change? See you next time!**


	20. Nothing Else Matters

**A/N: Vivi here! It's been another busy week (shocker) so I haven't been able to write very much. But lucky for you, I wrote ahead a bit last week so this chapter is complete. Get ready for some backstory!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _The laundromat wasn't crowded. One older woman with curly brown hair, a slouching kid about Dean's age with short black hair reading a textbook in the corner, a soccer mom with her hair in a tight pony tail folding unmentionables shamelessly on one of the machines near the windows._

 _But no Dean._

* * *

"Dammit." John hissed, peering into every machine to see if maybe he had just stepped out while the clothes were getting washed. Maybe he had to use the restroom, or he got bored and just took a walk or something.

None of the machines had anything belonging to any Winchester in them.

"He walked home. He just walked home." John told himself, hurrying back to the car and getting on the street before Sam was even aware that he'd returned. Poor kid was still pretty out of it. The day had been long for everyone.

"Where's Dean?"

Apparently he was aware enough to notice that his teenage counterpart was missing.

"He walked back to the house."

Dean had not walked back to the house. It was as dark and empty as they'd left it hours earlier.

"He's not here, Dad. What's going on?" Sam asked, now fully awake and getting worried. It was strange for him to see his father get so worked up when he wasn't in the thick of it on a hunt. Since leaving the laundromat, he had been mumbling, searching the roads with anxious eyes, driving too fast, tapping his fingers on the wheel, and sending off so much worry that it hung around him like a suffocating haze. _I didn't know Dad cared about Dean_ this _much. He couldn't have thought Dean would stay very long, right? I'll miss him too, but he just didn't seem like the family type. He even said he didn't want to get attached. Then again… he seemed to like it here with us. He told me he did… What if he was more banged up than I thought and he can't think straight, or somethin' happened and somebody called an ambulance? Or what if the gang found him again? No way they'd let him walk away again._

"I don't know." The pair returned to the car and John pulled out his phone. He dialed the number he'd stored earlier as Dean's; no one picked up the first call. John swore and counted to ten before dialing again. It ran five times.

"Who's this?"

John was so relieved to hear his son's voice that he couldn't speak for a few moments. "Dean, this is John. Where are you? What happened to staying put?"

"I… Jer- er… Joh-John?"

The father froze as he heard real, actual confusion in Dean's voice. And not fully lucid, 'I don't have all the facts' confused. This was 'something's wrong and I need help _now_ ' confused. Even over the phone, the difference was frighteningly obvious. "Yes. Where are you, Dean?" _Why didn't you tell me you hit your head? Hurry up so I can find you before you pass out, you concussed moron. Withholding injuries and getting yourself in bad situations- you are so grounded… Oh, I'm gonna feel like shit if you got jumped again, kid. Just be in one piece when I get to you. After all these years, please still be in one piece when I find you again._

"I don't know. I- You told me to stay?" In the background of Dean's end, John heard a siren approach. That did nothing to ease his nerves.

 _Please be okay._ "At the laundromat, yes. But that's not important anymore. What do you see? What's around you right now? I'll come get you. I'm not mad about the laundromat." _Please don't shut down. Please don't panic again and pass out before I find you. C'mon, Dean, c'mon. You can do this…_

"There's a stop light. Couple houses. Really loud bar on the corner. I… can't remember how I got here." Dean sounded nervous. "I… I don't feel so good."

 _Shit._ "Street names, Dean. The ones from the stop light. What are the streets?" John looked up as he heard a police car go by just a few streets down from where he and Sam sat in their driveway. Immediately, John popped the car in reverse and pulled out, flying down the road. He was sure it was the same siren that passed Dean just moments earlier over the phone. It had to be. It _had to be_.

"Uh… E-Emerin…"

"Don't move. Stay on the line."

Dean did not stay on the line. A static filled silence echoed in John's ear after just a few seconds of moving in the direction the siren came from. "Dammit, Dean."

"Where is he? Is he okay?" Sam was now looking just as frantically as his father while they sped down the busy road.

"Somewhere on Emerin Street. And no, I don't think so."

Turns out it was the same police car. _Thank God._

As Sam and John approached the intersection, they saw Dean. He was sitting on the laundry bag, head between his legs, phone glowing dimly on the ground nearby. John parked in the driveway of the closest house and hurried to get his oldest son, Sam close on his heels.

"Dean. What's wrong? What happened?" He asked as he approached, looking around quickly for any potential problems like another gang or a policeman. They still didn't know how Dean got so far from the laundromat in his condition and John wasn't taking any chances.

They smelled it before they saw it. Dean had vomited on some poor guy's poorly maintained lawn. The barely coherent kid could only respond with a miserable moan that turned into a sickening gag and a series of gasping breaths.

"Time to go home, son. I've got you." John moved to pull Dean up and was violently shaken off before he had the kid on his own two feet.

"No no, please. I can't-" Dean stumbled a few steps away before coming to a halt on unreliable feet. He watched John with unmistakable fear dancing in his eyes.

 _He- he doesn't recognize us? What happened to him?_ "It's okay, Dean. It's just me and Sam. Sam, come here. Now." John motioned for Sam to come closer, knowing the kid was there even though he was trying to be sneaky about it. _He grounds to Sam every time. We just need to get him in the car without too much of a fuss, so if Sammy can convince him to do that, we'll be okay._

 _Bossing me around again… We gotta talk about this, Pops._ "It's us, Dean." Sam watched Dean drag an arm across his watery eyes and squint at them. Suddenly, his frustration with his father didn't seem quite so important. _He_ is _hurt. This is so not good. I hope Dad has a plan cuz if not Dean's gonna have a breakdown real fast._ "Don't be scared."

"Please…" The sound was barely a nasally whisper. Dean felt his hand start to shake.

"We're not going to hurt you. Me and Dad wouldn't do that to you, not ever."

"Please don't kick me out. Sir."

For a moment, the three Winchesters could only watch each other, each enveloped in a snapshot of emotion all their own.

Sam was concerned; why would Dean think they would make him leave? He hadn't done anything wrong and on top of that, he had some serious injuries. Dad wouldn't let him leave tonight even if he _wanted_ to go.

Dean was consumed with dread; after all, he ruins every good thing that happens to him sooner or later. The Winchesters were bound to see the error of their ways eventually. But he wasn't ready. He hadn't put together a way to live alone in this new city. Where were the shelters? The bad parts of town to avoid at all costs? The soup kitchens, or the restaurants with dumpsters that weren't locked down tight? Where could he sleep in relative safety when the shelters turned out to be full for the evening? Were there even shelters here? Was homelessness a punishable offense in this city? He didn't want to be sent back to Lucy if he was identified. Maybe if he begged John, he could at least stay the night in his house. Get enough rest to survive three or four days of alertness until he learned the way of the land. Already, his head felt sloshy and his limbs were both lead and jello at the same time. He wouldn't survive tonight if he was sent away, not with his head still bleeding and his shoulder fucked up and his back spasming painfully every few seconds. Easy pickin's don't last on the street.

John's heart just about broke at the words his little boy spoke. The father had been expecting another episode like the ones in the woods and the hospital when Dean didn't even recognize them because he was so ill. But that wasn't the case anymore. Not even close. "Dean, I will never 'kick you out'. That was part of our deal, remember? We _want_ you here, with us." _I can't lose you again, kiddo. I- I just can't. I wouldn't push you away to save my own life._

Dean just stared at the man in fearful disbelief and tried to breathe. "I screw- screwed up. My arm, 'n the fight, 'n leavin' my- my post. Why aren't you mad? I don'… I jus' don'…"

"Why don't you come on back to the house and get some rest, huh? Let me check you over and maybe get some medicine and food into you. We can talk about this tomorrow, when you feel better." John nodded his head, hoping Dean would understand the question with the obvious fog that clouded his brain. Slowly, carefully, John took a few steps toward the boy, not willing to let him take a tumble and really break something this time, even if the close proximity frightened Dean. He would rather control the frantic, disoriented version of his son than lose him to his injuries or a sudden spike of adrenaline. John was sure that if he tried hard enough, Dean could outrun him. The weary father would do _anything_ to keep from losing his boys again, even if it meant scaring one and having to build their relationship a third time.

Dean sniffed his nose, his mind falling blank except for one word: _please._ After a few seconds, he nodded hesitantly, swaying dangerously back and forth as his breath hitched with occasional hiccups. His eyelids started to slow their blinking as they watched John get closer in a sort of numb disconnection. _Please._

In a breathtaking show of trust- at least to John- Dean took a few steps toward him before stumbling and falling. Luck was on the father's side though. Dean was just close enough for John to catch him before he hit the ground.

Dean accepted the pain of impact as soon as he realized he was going to fall. What were a few more bruises to his already abused body? But then… it never came. Strong, fatherly arms slowed his descent and held him firmly against the most stable thing in his life.

The landing was certainly not kind to John's knees, but he hardly noticed the pain. His son was back in his arms, and in one piece. "Easy, tiger. Just relax. You're safe now. You're safe with us." John gently pulled Dean to his feet, holding him close for the first time in _years,_ desperate to stop his son's suffering _._ His heart dropped when Dean's breath started catching in his throat. That only meant one thing. _You were right, Mary. I'm terrible with tears. Please- a little help would be appreciated right about now._

Dean let his walls crumble. He was too weary from pain, from exhaustion, from that dreaded adrenaline withdrawal to keep them in place any longer. _Dad…_ With shaking knees, he leaned into John's embrace, burying his tear stained face in the familiar leather jacket while he gripped John's arm as tightly as he could. The sobs crept up on him, leaking out before he even knew they were there. _He- he's here and he still loves me. He came back for me. He- he-_

"Just breathe, Dean. Deep and slow." John gently squeezed the back of Dean's neck, knowing that the old way of calming his child still worked. It had worked when he was younger, and it had worked back at Dean's junker of a car. Within thirty seconds, the sobbing had stopped. His hiccups were slowing and the irregular, jerky pattern of respiration became more gentle and smooth. John had to smile, just a little bit. _Thank you, honey._ "You're safe. I've got you."

John could have sworn Dean nodded, but the action was done before he could really tell.

"Let's get you home." After doing a quick visual once-over for broken bones or gushing blood, he guided the unsteady teen to the car, where he was put in the backseat to lay down. Dean fell asleep almost immediately, exhaustion finally claiming him. John wasted no time retrieving the laundry bag and phone, tossing them carelessly in the trunk.

Sam was relieved to see that Dean was mostly okay, even if he did end up having a breakdown. His imagination had been running wild, thinking up every potential bad situation Dean could have gotten into. But he didn't run away. He wasn't attacked again. He hadn't fallen victim to his injuries. He was just confused and disoriented from what had to be a nasty concussion. The same thing had happened to Sam in the past- he knew what it felt like and he couldn't blame Dean for the rather emotional scene that just played out. Sam realized for the first time in all his life that he had taken safety and the feeling of being protected for granted. He always knew that if something happened, Dad would protect him at all costs. No wonder Dean cried. His safety was probably conditional, never guaranteed. He never had a dad like Dad.

As John got his little family back on the road, Sam looked over the bench at his sleeping companion. The color of his skin wasn't the best, and he stank to high heaven, but he was safe and that was all that mattered. Everything else could wait. Although Sam really didn't think he should be sleeping like that with a head injury that had already produced results like those of the past hour.

* * *

Once back at their house, Sam manhandled the laundry bag inside like he was asked while John quietly roused his sleeping son and carefully eased him upright once more. He was fine until John sat him on the couch. After that, he just collapsed against the back, his head resting on the edge and angled toward the ceiling with his eyes closed.

"My pee is- is pink."

The voice was just a wisp of a sound, nervous and scared and helpless and exhausted. John turned around from where he had been locking the deadbolt on the door. "Excuse me?"

"Bloody piss. I don' know what to do. Am I dying?"

"How did that happen?" John asked, going to sit next to Dean, facing him. Dean's words were a bit slurred, but the blood in his urine was a more pressing issue. A ruptured kidney could become lethal pretty quick. John wasn't going to take any more chances with this fragile life. "Did you knock a kidney?"

"I don' know. I got kicked, n' body slammed onto concrete. I think. 'm sorry."

 _Dammit, Dean. Why didn't you tell me earlier?_ "How much blood?"

"Jus' a little. I… I really don' feel good." _What's wrong with me, Dad? It hurts. Everything hurts…_

"I can see that. A little blood is okay for a few days. We'll keep an eye on it. Where else do you hurt? What doesn't feel good?"

"Back, both- both arms, head, groin, sides… stomach…" Dean winced as he lifted his head painfully off the couch. It weighed a ton. He looked guiltily first at the floor, then at John, knowing that the man would be upset that he withheld information from him. Dean had been steeling himself for the anger and frustration and rejection he was sure John would have in store. But the father wasn't looking at him at all.

John was glaring at the bloody spot where Dean's head had been resting. When he looked at Dean, the kid visibly flinched. "I'm _going_ to look you over. I'm _not_ going to hurt you. I'm not going to yell at you. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do, okay? But I _need_ to address those injuries before they get out of hand. Do you understand me?"

Dean looked at the carpet and nodded. He knew this was coming. But in his hazy brain, he couldn't remember how he was supposed to feel about it. He thought maybe… nervous? Or embarrassed? Scared… panicky? Nothing seemed to make sense. So he just stayed still. That is, until his only useful hand and his jaw started to quiver ever so slightly. They must've known how to feel.

John took his time looking over Dean's head. It was bleeding in two places. He obviously had a concussion; another one, or maybe the fall to concrete just made his original case worse. The wound on the back of his head looked like a scratch from an impact, but the side of his head had a torn gash in it. Something hit it with force. And John tried not to let the fact that Dean was shaking and breathing in gasps and pants alarm him too much. He had a feeling those symptoms were because of how close he was to the freaked out kid. John knew he needed to be steady and reliable for Dean. His son was just starting to trust him; he admitted his injuries without being pressured to, knowing that he would receive care with no strings attached. They were finally making progress.

For the first time, Dean didn't hesitate to remove his shirt when asked. He felt weird in his own head and incredibly sleepy. If the man beside him was saying anything, it wasn't making it to Dean's brain.

John had to keep Dean sitting upright when he fell asleep. With the head wounds cleaned and dressed, John moved to checking out the bruises on Dean's arms, side, and back. His wendigo stitches were completely healed, now just pink ridges on his abdomen. The huge tree shaped bruise was almost gone, now a sickly yellow color, but superimposed on it was now a rough blackening blob midway down his back. The blob covered Dean's right kidney, which was probably the source of the blood. John poked and prodded, but Dean didn't wake up. He took that as a good sign.

Now his arm, on the other hand… John tried to be very careful in how he inspected it. If what Sam said was true, Dean might be headed back to a hospital to get that thing put in a cast. _He can't keep taking the sling off. He's going to ruin his shoulder. I may not be able to protect him from everything, but I can protect him from crippling himself like this._ John watched Dean's sleeping face contort in pain as he moved the arm around a bit, finding it stiff and inflamed but otherwise in working order. _Probably just too sore to move. Some ice, medicine, rest- should be good as new pretty soon._

"Okay, Dean. Wake up." John put the sling back on and tapped Dean's good shoulder.

Dean groaned, not wanting to open his eyes. _Was I asleep? Wha… Why's he talkin'?_

"Give me your person, place, and time, kid."

 _Why do I have to… I'll jus' do it. He's the boss. Don't question authority._ "Temple, Texas. November 3rd er somethin'."

"Name?"

"Dean Win. Wait, no- jus', jus' Dean." Dean flinched when his old surname slipped out. Winthrop branded him WIN and that was what the other fangs in the nest addressed him as in conversation. After he was rescued from that nest, he tried his hardest to forget the name. It wasn't who he was. Neither was Dean Ross. Dean knew exactly who he was: just Dean. And someday, he'd be Dean… something. If he ever found his Dad, which was a hope he'd given up on a long time ago and yet still clung to with childlike faith. It had to mean _something_ that Dean was still alive, against all odds- maybe it meant his Dad was looking for him. Maybe he was close. Dean refused to hope, but a tiny spark of excitement shone in his bleak mind at the thought.

 _Win…?_ John's eyes widened in amazement and he tightened his grip on the back of the couch. _Does he actually remember? I- Sammy's gonna have my head if he finds out I knew and didn't tell him. But if he remembers, I have a chance at convincing him that he's_ my _son. Not just some 'homeless kid' or a 'lost cause'; he's_ my boy _. What if he doesn't remember this in the morning? What if the concussion is just messing with his head and he just took our name as a placeholder? Or he_ wants _it to be his name but won't let on about it. I know he likes being with us, but that much? This could be too good to be true. Better not push it, though. Can't scare him off._ "Alright, kiddo. Dinner and then bed."

"What's for food?" Dean's voice was just as quiet as it had been earlier, and just as tired.

John was starting to quietly kick himself for not pressuring Dean into revealing his injuries. The longer he looked at his son, the more injuries he found. He knew Dean had to do some things on his own terms to feel respected, but he could have died that very day. From injuries that John could have addressed before they got too serious. _I need to figure out how to make him trust us. Completely trust us._ The words of the hospital nurse echoed in his mind: 'Just love on him', 'be patient'. John thought that maybe he could pull that off. The patience would be the hard part. After all, he had never stopped loving _both_ his sons. "PB and J."

Dean started to try and push himself off the couch, gasping sharply at the pain in his side halfway up before falling back to his seat. That impact hurt more than trying to stand and left him slightly nauseous, fighting against the nerves that were fighting against him. "I'm not hungry." Dean forced the words out. Another lie. But there was no way Dean would be able to make himself anything that resembled food in his current condition. There was also no way he was getting to his own bed without help and that would be humiliating enough. Maybe he could just sleep on the couch that night. It only smelled a little like smoke. He'd had worse.

"You don't have to lie, Dean." John said, already returning from the kitchen with a sandwich on a plate.

Dean ate and took a few pills without a fuss.

He fell asleep on the couch a few minutes after.

John put him in bed like he used to when Dean was pint sized; Dean would fall asleep playing and Daddy would tuck him in with his favorite toy car and a glass of water on his bed stand. This time around, the inhaler joined the glass of water on the floor and pillows were piled up to try and cushion as many sources of pain as possible. It hurt to see Dean so beat up. Reminded John of just how bad he'd wrecked his child's life. "I'm sorry, son. I'm here now." John pulled the blanket over his snoring teen and tried to school his features for a confrontation with Sam about bunk beds.

* * *

The pounding echoed through the room and made dust fall from the ceiling. Dean sat bolt upright in bed and threw off the covers. "Sammy?" He called quietly across the room, trying to be silent as he snuck to the play pen at the foot of Daddy's bed.

Sammy was sleeping. Dean flinched as the door rattled in its frame, the sound getting louder and louder. He reached down and picked the baby up, barely able to get him out of the play pen without dropping him. As fast as he could, Dean ran toward the closet.

He tripped and fell. Sammy's head hit the floor, just lightly, he thought; the baby was still in his arms. Fear gripped Dean's heart as the baby didn't wake up, didn't even whimper.

Dean set Sammy on the closet floor, between two of Daddy's big duffel bags. He still didn't wake up. The closet door shut and Dean went to hide under the bed, where he put the rifle Daddy left him to protect Sammy with.

The door slammed open, sending bits of the frame flying into the room. Dean's arms flew up to protect his face; he was standing in the middle of the floor, right out in the open. Three figures entered the room, silhouetted by the light from the parking lot outside.

There was nothing Dean could do.

* * *

Dean woke gasping for air and tangled in his bed sheets. _Can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe-_ He stood, nearly falling at the sudden onslaught of screaming nerve endings from all over his body, and pawed around in the darkness until he found the light switch. Frantically, he searched the room for his clothes-

In that moment, Dean could have cried in relief.

John had put his inhaler on the floor next to the bed.

A few minutes later, Dean could breathe normally again. He hadn't stopped shaking, but at least he could breathe. Sitting on the floor all alone, he tried not to remember the nightmare. He tried to forget that he called the baby 'Sammy'. He knew his subconscious or something had a plan to get him to stay with the Winchesters, but plugging the kid Winchester's name into his last memory of his dead baby brother was just plain vicious.

Dean didn't even try to go to sleep again. Which was probably a good thing.

He jumped when a soft knock echoed from his door. "Dean? You asleep in there?"

"Nah. No, sir." Dean said, rubbing at his eyes as John opened the door.

"What- what are you doing on the floor?" John took in the scene before him with nervous suspicion. Dean was sitting up against his bed, on the floor, facing the wall beside the door. There was nothing nearby that he could have been doing. He was just sitting there, looking exhausted.

"Long story."

"Well, I'm gonna hear it after you give me person, place, and time. You need sleep, and if you're not getting it, I want to know why."

Dean sighed and looked away. _Made him mad again. At least this city isn't as cold as the other one. Makes sleeping outside easier._ "Dean, Temple, November 3rd."

"Good. Now I want to hear why you're awake after the day you've had. You should be exhausted."

"Sorry."

"No, Dean- Just tell me what's wrong." John closed the door and went to sit on the bed beside Dean's head because there was no way he was getting on the floor. Not with his knees aching as bad as they were. "You don't have to be sorry."

 _Be honest. He can't get mad if I'm honest, right?_ "Nightmare."

"About?"

 _None of your business._ "My past."

"What about your past?" John geared up to hold a stoic face while his son revealed the terrible thing that happened to him. _This isn't about me. This is about Dean._

"I thought you said you wouldn't pry into my life. That was part of the deal, remember?" Dean's voice was bitter. He hadn't meant it to sound like that. But he really was tired and it had been a long time since he felt this way. A week at least. Normally he would have tried to sound submissive and small, given the man what he wanted in exchange for a few more hours of safety, but some things just weren't for public consumption. Some things were too painful to talk about.

"Right." John was taken aback by the strength of tone that he hadn't heard out of Dean since the forest. _He's either healing or he's really, really hurting. I want to meet grown up Dean, figure out who he really is beyond all that fear and pain, but not like this. Not when I could still scare him off._ "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I would like to know, if you'll tell me."

"No." _Please don't kick me out._

John scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed, looking down at his oldest, still seated on the floor. There were scars on his head, old ridges of tragic memories, but John already knew that. He saw them in the tent, he saw them in the motel, in the hospital, and right after he cut his hair. The sight infuriated him. The thought of anyone or anything hurting his boy at all angered him, but his head- that was a different ballpark. Lungs would be removed if John ever caught the offenders. "Alright. I'll respect that decision. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Help? You… you're already doing that. I can breathe, I have food, I'm not shivering through the night. What more could I ask for?" Dean asked quietly, turning his inhaler over and over in his hands and keeping his eyes down. "You've already given me more than I've had my whole life. I can actually live now." _Instead of just dying slowly day after day._

It was like an ice pick stabbed straight through John's chest and into his heart. _I'm sorry, okay? I never meant to damn you like this. I never meant to leave you-_ "I'm sorry." John got up and left. He didn't want to scare Dean with a breakdown or endless pleas for forgiveness or the admission that Dean was his son and he had never wanted Dean's life to go this way. He wasn't ready. Neither of them were ready.

He hoped Sam and Dean wouldn't hear him fall apart in the Impala.

 _Shit. How did I piss him off now?_ Dean watched John walk away. The man didn't even look back at him. _He didn't say to leave, so… I'm good, right? He's not mad enough to dismiss me yet. If I can keep from pushing his buttons, I can probably stay until I have a plan. Just… just a few more days._

Dean didn't try to sleep that night. He knew he couldn't. Not after that particular nightmare. He never wanted to relive the moment his life went from domestic heaven to living hell.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Don't forget to follow the story for updates that aren't at their normally scheduled time (I'm not very consistent, sorry). Leave me a review with any questions, comments, or concerns you have about John's Boys. I love hearing from you! See you soon!**


	21. Stand By You

**A/N: Vivi here! Sorry for the late post. Yesterday was a living nightmare. Hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Dean didn't try to sleep that night. He knew he couldn't. Not after that particular nightmare. He never wanted to relive the moment his life went from domestic heaven to living hell._

* * *

The next morning, John didn't talk much. He could tell Dean was on edge, and he had a pretty good idea why. _Probably didn't get any more sleep than I had last night_. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally snap at one of his boys and give Dean a reason to run.

"Don't take your sling off today, okay? Don't leave the house. Don't do anything strenuous or anything that could wind up hurting you. You have my phone number. If you need anything, call me. Just take it easy today, okay, Dean?"

"Yes, sir." Dean said sleepily, his limbs feeling twenty pounds heavier than normal as he stood near the door, watching Sam pack his school bag.

"I want you to go to school tomorrow, so rest up. Get some sleep, do some quality healing. Take a personal day." John said, hoping his words would make it through to the thick headed kid.

"Yes, sir." Dean repeated, trying to sound a bit more convincing. He had every intention of sleeping the day away now that John wasn't letting him go to school until tomorrow. Maybe he could even read some of his new book. If his eyes would focus that close with his head pounding like it was…

"See you after school, Dean." Sam smiled and headed out the door, eager to start at his new school.

"See ya, Sammy."

"Don't take your sling off."

"Got it."

* * *

"Be safe, Sammy. Ride the bus home." John called out the passenger window as Sam darted into the crowd. He smiled and shook his head. _That kid and his moods. Won't prep for college but is too excited to say goodbye to his father on his first day of school._

Sam stopped just inside the crowd and watched Dad drive away while he nervously bit at his lip. This school was big- biggest he'd ever been to- and it was all very overwhelming to a smaller-than-average thirteen year old.

A burly boy, probably a few years older than Sam, bumped into him and nearly sent him to the sidewalk. He didn't even turn around; the kid and his buddies just kept walking.

"Are you okay?"

Everyone around was taller than Sam, so he couldn't find the source of the voice until the kid pushed through the slowly moving fray. He was tall- maybe even taller than Dean- wearing a black jacket and Nirvana tee shirt with a tan book bag over his shoulder. The book bag had a small, gold-colored, metallic-looking feather charm hanging off of it, which drew Sam's attention almost immediately. _That's cool. Kinda like my tribal charm_.

The guy's hand moved to push his book bag behind him, which prompted Sam to look up again while the guy moved closer in the crowd. A look of concern was painted on his face. It had been so long since Sam had gotten to socialize with other kids that he froze up. _What- what do I do? How do you answer a question like that when you haven't even met? Don't be weird- act normal!_

"Are you okay?" The guy repeated as he pushed his way to walk next to Sam. "Cameron and his friends aren't exactly the best people to deal with in the morning. Did he hurt you?"

 _Be normal be normal-_ "No, I'm fine." Sam looked down to the pavement, blushing as embarrassment welled up in his stomach. _First day and I already look like a whiny little kid._

"Are you sure? Because if not, I can-"

"I'm fine." Sam cringed when he realized that he cut the guy off. "I don't want to start anything."

The guy frowned and held onto his book bag strap with both hands. "You deserve to feel safe."

'You deserve to feel safe, Dean. Everybody does.' Dad's voice replayed in Sam's head, making him feel guilty for resisting help like Dean had during their first week or so of knowing him. It annoyed him then that Dean so obviously needed someone to step in and still wouldn't let it happen, and now he was doing it to someone else. "I'm okay. Really. He just bumped into me. That's all." _But I'm not as bad as Dean was. Right? He was half dead. I just got pushed a little. It's different… Right?_

"Well, I'm glad nothing worse happened. They've been known to shove people in the detector lines. James Portsmith broke his wrist last year when Cameron pushed him. The goons were suspended for a couple days but they don't change." The guy glared at a red-headed guy standing a few feet in front of them. "Try to avoid them if you can. Everyone does."

"Thanks for the advice, but I think I can handle myself." Sam felt irritation poke at him. This guy was assuming he was a weakling just because he was a good foot shorter than him. And maybe because he was avoiding eye contact and looking anywhere but at the guy.

"I'm sure you can. But there's power- and safety- in numbers. No one is anyone without someone. You certainly aren't no one. And I don't see you talking to anyone but me."

Sam looked up nervously at that point and he was glad the guy wasn't looking back. His eyes were focused on the doors in front of them, where several security officers were going through bags and ushering the students through metal detectors before they could go about their education in relative peace. "I have someone. He's just not here."

The guy chuckled and didn't look down. "Your father doesn't count. In the real world, yes. But not here. This is the jungle, kid."

"He's not my father! I have- I have…" Sam trailed off. _What can I tell him? Dean's not related to me. He's my friend, but he also lives with me. Nobody's gonna get that. They'll make fun of me, or think I'm lying. And Dean- what will he think? What if I say he's just living with me and then we both get made fun of when he comes tomorrow? That would be a terrible way to start school again, especially when he hasn't been in classes for a few months. What can I say that won't piss anyone off? C'mon, think…_

"Well?" The guy looked down at that point, waiting patiently.

Sam wanted to poke him right in his blue eyes for making him nervous on his first day. "I have a big brother. He's out sick today, but he'll be here tomorrow." _Way to sound like a kid._

"I see."

"What, you don't believe me?" Sam snapped, feeling his cheeks get red. The doors were only ten feet away. _Ten more feet and I can lose this guy for good._

"No, I believe you. Why wouldn't I?" The guy looked confused and blew a strand of his black hair out of his face. It was a good two inches longer than Dean's was now, and about an inch shorter than his own. "You seem like a trustworthy guy."

"Oh." Sam didn't know how to reply to that. Confrontation, he knew. He had plenty of practice with Dad, after all. But agreement? That was foreign territory.

"See you around." The guy spoke just as Sam stepped inside the doors and put his bag on the table for the guard to look through. Once through the detector and reunited with his bag, Sam set off for the administration office to get his schedule. _Weirdo._

* * *

"Class, settle down." Mrs. Burgdorf, Sam's AP Calculus 1 teacher, had to yell to get the roar in the room quiet enough for her to make an announcement as class started. "We have another new student today. Will Sam Bennett please step forward?"

 _What? Why why why do they always do this?_ Sam stood from his desk and trudged to the front of the classroom. _At least I combed my hair today._ He could literally feel the fifty eight eyes on him as he turned to face his fellow classmates.

"This is Sam Bennett. Sam, please tell us where you are from and one thing about yourself." Mrs. Burgdorf sounded fakely pleasant until she had to stare down a boy in the back row who was talking quietly with another student.

"I'm from Kansas and I've been to seventeen other schools since kindergarten. Oh, sorry, it's eighteen now." Sam shrugged and couldn't find it in him to smile at the shocked faces around the room.

"Thank you, Sam. You can take your seat."

 _Another semester as the weird kid. Oh boy._

* * *

By lunchtime, Sam had been forced to repeat his introduction four times and was ready to pound his head against the lunch table repeatedly. He waited quietly in line, got his 'Taco Tuesday' meal, and went to sit alone at one of the empty rectangular tables. _Can't wait to not have any friends again. Oh, wait._

"Somebody's brother!"

Sam felt himself flinch as the familiar voice rang out over the chatter in the cafeteria. He held perfectly still, like the guy wouldn't be able to see him if he didn't move.

He was, unfortunately, wrong. "How'd your morning classes go, kid?" The guy from the line outside set his tray opposite Sam and sat down, smiling at him.

"Fine."

"Good. Hey, I hear you're new." The guy said as he set his book bag on the seat next to him. "I'm Castiel. You're Sam, right?"

Sam stared down at his food, poking at a blob of green jello with his fork, and nodded.

"Rough day?"

Sam sighed and looked up at Castiel, who was no longer smiling. "I hate having to do the whole introduction thing a hundred times every time I move."

"I do, too."

Surprise made Sam's hesitation fly out the window. "Do you move a lot?"

Castiel shrugged and leaned on the table with his elbows, ignoring his food completely. "I used to. Dad was one of those high dollar insurance agents. He chased salaries like cats chase mice, so every year or so he uprooted us and we moved halfway across the country."

"Who's us?" In the back of his mind, Sam knew his curiosity was getting the better of him, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. And at the moment, he didn't much care to.

Castiel looked down to his tray and the tone of the conversation lost its lighthearted feeling. "My father, my step mother, and me."

"I'm from a small family, too. It's just Dad and me- and Dean." Sam almost forgot to add Dean into the mix. He didn't want Castiel to think he lied about having a brother, but thinking of Dean as family was going to take some getting used to. Dad made it seem like Dean wasn't going to stay forever, like he would leave at the drop of a hat whenever he wanted to go. Sam was starting to think that maybe that wasn't the case at all. Dad was taking care of Dean like his own kid. There wasn't much difference in how he treated either of the boys anymore.

"Are you close?"

"Huh?"

"With your Dad and brother. Are you close?" Castiel asked, his tone both curious and concerned.

Sam didn't know why Castiel should be concerned. "Yeah, I mean we go everywhere together. Do everything together. We even share a room." _He doesn't need to know that I share a room with Dad, not Dean._

Castiel smiled sadly and opened his bottle of water. "I'm glad you have someone to fall back on after today. No one should have to go it alone at a new school."

"Why do you say that?" Sam asked, watching as Castiel spun the cap of his water bottle over and over on the table.

Castiel met Sam's eyes and looked like he was deliberating for a few moments.

"You don't have to tell me. I'm just asking." Sam started to consider moving to a different table when the conversation became uncomfortable. He didn't like that he attracted the outcasts at every new school. It just kind of happened.

"Well, everyone else knows. You'll find out eventually even if I don't tell you. My Dad died about a year ago in a car crash. Drunk driver hit him, he was killed instantly. I was asleep in the backseat. We were coming home from a soccer game and… y'know. So when I got out of the hospital a couple days later, we had Dad's funeral and I was left in the custody of my step mother."

"Why not your real mom?" Sam blurted the question out before he realized it. He had a feeling the answer wasn't going to be good.

"She died having me. I was her first and last." Castiel shrugged again, looking drained but not distraught. "Would've been nice to have her around, though, when Sadie kicked me out."

"Who's Sadie?"

"My step mother."

"Your step mom kicked you out? Like, for a week or something? Like a lesson?" Sam was surprised once again by the heartlessness of supposed parents.

"She handed me emancipation papers and told me to get out. Guess she didn't remember that the pre-nup left all Dad's funds to me."

"Pre-nup? What is that?"

"It's a legal document that two people can sign before they get married that says if they split, one gets this and the other gets that, or one keeps this and the other keeps that. Y'know, to protect themselves in case things go south."

"I've never heard of that." Sam said quietly. It made sense to him that a thing like that existed, but he still felt like it would undermine the relationship.

"Welcome to the real world. So when she tried to claim Dad's life insurance, his savings, his stocks, and his properties, she hit a brick wall. They all belonged to me the moment he was pronounced dead. And I was legally emancipated before she could go back on her decision. I have no idea where she is now." Castiel's face turned hard as he spoke about his step mother. It was obvious that he hadn't received any affection from the woman at any point in his life.

"So you don't have anyone anymore?" Sam almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Well… the rest of my family cut ties with us when Dad remarried. No one but Dad liked Sadie. And my friends were the ones who suggested leaving town in the first place. We still talk like once a week."

"So… where do you live now? Do you have a foster parent or something?" Sam asked, a million questions burning in his head. "How old are you?"

Castiel's smile turned genuine and the light returned to his eyes. "I'm emancipated, Sam. I live on my own, in an apartment about half a mile away. Legally, I'm a sixteen year old adult."

"Is that really a thing?" Sam was suspicious. _Why didn't Dean do that? He could have left Lucy and Jerold._

"Yeah. I pay my own bills, buy my own clothes, wash my own dishes- it's just me now."

 _Oh. Right. Dean didn't have any money. And I guess Lucy and Jerold weren't his legal guardians. They were just giving him a place to stay until he could live on his own and protect himself. But nobody can hunt without backup. I wonder if he has…_ "Who's your somebody?"

"What?"

"Everybody has somebody. Who's your somebody?"

Castiel was silent for a few seconds, the humor having fallen from his face. "Just the friends I've made here. My lawyer, maybe. My caseworker. I- I really don't have a _long-term_ somebody, I guess." He shrugged and spun the cap again. "I started at this school last semester, in the spring. I'm kinda new, too."

Sam stabbed his jello and took a bite before another question bypassed his brain on its way to his mouth. "Are you rich?"

Castiel looked surprised at the question. "Not really. I have enough to live off of for a while. That's… that's all I'm going to say."

"We're paying for groceries on a credit card." Sam said flatly. "You're better off than we are."

"Are your parents out of a job or something?"

"Dad's a mechanic. Mom's dead. Dean was in an accident and can't work right now. I'm too young, no one will hire me." Sam shrugged and took another bite of jello. "Dad signed us up for the free lunch program."

"You have enough to eat, though, right?" Castiel asked quietly. Sam could hear the pity in his tone.

Sam refused to look at him. "Yeah. For a while. Look, you don't have to sit with me. I'm fine on my own. You probably shouldn't be seen with the new weirdo if you're trying to find friends."

"Who called you a weirdo?"

When Sam looked up again, Castiel was wearing the same protective expression that he had back when they first met. "No one. I'm just saying what everyone is thinking."

"No one is thinking that, Sam. There are so many kids at this school that no one would know if you're new unless a teacher told them during class. We get new kids all the time anyway. Why would you think you're a weirdo?"

"You don't know me yet."

"Guess I'll just have to hang around and figure it out then."

Sam glared defiantly at Castiel, who looked defiantly right back. "I'm not gonna be at this school very long. You'll be wasting your time."

"It's my time to waste. And I want to meet your big brother. See if he's big enough to take down Cameron for bullying you." Castiel took a bite of his food.

"He is. Believe me." Sam muttered. _Hope those gang guys didn't bite it after we left. Somebody found 'em, probably._

* * *

 _It's almost over. Just two more classes._ Sam was in the middle of a personal pep talk when he read over his now wrinkled paper schedule and found out his next class was gym. He _hated_ gym class. It was a survival of the fittest arena and because he was short, Sam always got picked last for teams. Most of the time it didn't matter that he could run faster than most of the other kids or make three point shots in basketball or hit the ball out of the park. He was the new weird short kid everywhere he went and that never changed.

The gym teacher was a nice, smiley lady- Mrs. Snyder- who told him where the locker rooms were and gave him some spare shorts to wear until he could bring his own for class. Almost everyone else was already doing stretches when he finally found the gym, so he had the locker room all to himself.

"Listen up." Mrs. Snyder bellowed over the talking students. Her voice echoed back in the large gym, bouncing off of walls and wooden bleachers and polished floors before it faded out. "We're playing wiffle ball today. I want you to finish stretching while I explain the rules."

Sam, having taken way too many gym classes in his lifetime, already knew all the rules of wiffle ball. He preferred baseball, but baseballs left bruises and wiffle balls didn't. It was understandable that this school would use wiffle balls until the students were fast enough to dodge baseballs or softballs thrown at them by malicious classmates.

"Okay, time to choose teams. I need two team captains." Mrs. Snyder put her hands on her hips and surveyed her class.

 _Another team to be picked last on._ Sam tuned the teacher out, knowing he had plenty of time to himself before being called. He was just glad she didn't make him introduce himself in front of everyone. Standing against the back wall with all the other students, Sam let his gaze float lazily around the room. The tall ceilings were painted white and big round lights hung from the rafters where the occasional basketball, wiffle ball, or badminton birdie could be spotted pinned between two beams.

" _Sam_." Mrs. Snyder interrupted Sam's surveying in a harsh tone, snapping her fingers to get his attention. "Get moving." She pointed out toward the gym floor.

A look of innocent surprise spread across his face as he realized the entire class- and the teacher- were staring at him. Mrs. Snyder looked annoyed, most of the students looked were either giggling or glaring at him, and Castiel was-

 _Castiel?_ Sam's eyes snapped to the kid, who was laughing quietly with his arms folded from where he stood about twenty feet in front of the rest of the group, facing them. A freckled girl in pigtails, probably a little older than Sam, stood next to him, and a burly boy on her other side.

It donned on Sam that Castiel had been chosen as a team captain.

And he chose Sam first.

Sam rushed forward and stood next to Castiel, blushing like a little kid at being the center of attention again. Castiel just grinned at him and continued on alternating teammate choices with the pigtailed girl.

"Blue team, you're at bat. Red team, get on the field." Mrs. Snyder sent the teams scrambling to their positions with most of the blue team either trying to get to the front of the line or the very back.

Sam and Castiel went for the field, which was really just the open gym floor with a few white blobs of mats spaced around it to mimic a baseball field.

"Why did you pick me? You don't even know if I'm good at wiffle ball." Sam hissed as they walked, trying not to be heard by the other boys and girls headed for the field.

"Doesn't matter if you're good. We play for fun, or we're supposed to. At least when I'm the team captain." Castiel slowed. "Can you pitch at all?"

"Yeah…" Sam was hesitant to admit any of his skills to anyone at a new school. He was good at pitching because Dad trained him with everything from knives to spears, including rocks, which if thrown at a high enough velocity with the appropriate accuracy, could kill. _'Kill it any way you can, Sam. Or it will kill you. What if you drop your weapon? You need to learn to use the environment against the opponent. Now, try again. Throw it harder this time.' Comin' in real handy right about now, Dad._ Sam decided he could have done without that training though. The weeks of camping with Dad were not worth the skills learned. At least to Sam. He would have rather attended a real school and learned to pitch the normal way.

"Good. You're the pitcher." Castiel clapped him on the shoulder and jogged to the outfield, leaving Sam feeling very exposed in the middle of the infield.

* * *

"Please don't do that to me again." Sam said as the boys returned to the locker room at the end of the class. "I hate being singled out."

"You struck out four players, Sam." Castiel snorted. "You're gonna be the pitcher on any team you get from now on, I'll bet."

Sam groaned and threw his head back dramatically. "You've doomed me."

"But you're not the weird kid anymore." Castiel pointed out with a grin. "Word's gonna spread around the school that you're an athlete and if the jocks respect you, everyone will."

"I don't want respect. I want to be normal. Average. I want to blend in." Sam grabbed his backpack and started to leave the locker room.

"That's no way to live." Castiel said.

"It's my life."

"Hey, Sam. What did the baseball glove say to the ball?" Castiel called over the roar of the locker room.

"What? Is this supposed to be a joke or something?" Sam turned and looked back at Castiel.

"Catch ya later!" Half the locker room burst into laughter.

Sam rolled his eyes and left gym class with a grin on his face.

* * *

Everyone on the bus knew he could play baseball like a prodigy. _How does this even happen? They had an hour to tell other people and fifty minutes of that was in class._ He tried to be polite while also avoiding conversation with the kids who sat in the seats around him.

He was never so glad to see the rental house.

"Dean? I'm back from school." Sam called as he entered the house. When he got no response, he locked the door and dropped his bag on the kitchen tiles. "Dean?"

* * *

 **A/N: Hope this wasn't too disjointed. I had to cut a lot of Cas backstory out to make him fit in the story. Surprise! Leave me words! See you next week.**


	22. True Colors

**A/N: Vivi here! First of all, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this so far! Your feedback is very important to me and it helps me become a better writer. Feel free to let me know what you like or dislike about my writing style; I'm always trying to improve. Secondly, I've gotten a lot of questions about the nature of our new Cas character. Some of you will be happy to hear that I don't write Destiel, Sastiel, or Wincest. I like the boys just the way they are and I try not to change them too much in my fics. They aren't mine, obviously, and I don't want to warp them into something less endearing than they already are.**

 **We have a few warnings for this chapter. Lots of talk of past abuse and language. Don't read it if it hurts. Nothing that I write is worth risking your mental health for. As a person who has been in dark places, putting your health before your wants is sometimes hard. I understand, and it's a big step in recovery. That's another reason why I love Dean and Sam and Cas; they're learning to deal with it, too.**

 **Also, this chapter is ridiculously long and it's only one conversation so I couldn't split it. Oh well. I guess you'll just have to suffer through it...**

 **Hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"Dean? I'm back from school." Sam called as he entered the house. When he got no response, he locked the door and dropped his bag on the kitchen tiles. "Dean?"_

* * *

A soft bubbling sound made Sam jump and whip around, adrenaline shooting through him.

There was a pot on the stove. Someone was cooking something.

 _What the hell?_ "Dean?" Sam called more softly, suddenly nervous about what he might find if he went looking through the house. _It's not that big. I'll be fine. Dean's probably fine._ He quietly dug a pocket knife out of the silverware drawer just in case.

With the little blade drawn and hidden behind his back, Sam searched the living room – which didn't take long, it was tiny- before heading down the hallway. The first door was the bunk room he shared with Dad. Silently, he opened the door.

A sharp gasp broke the silence of the small room. A shadow was standing just in front of the bunk beds, not moving. It was tall, much taller than Sam, but thinner than Sam thought any person should be.

Sam held perfectly still for a few moments, waiting in tightly controlled fear for the thing to move or attack him. When it too remained motionless, Sam slowly moved his hand up to the light switch.

"Stupid." Sam hissed to himself. _Why did I leave my hoodie on the bedpost?_ The night before, Sam had hung his sweatshirt on the bedpost so he wouldn't lose it in the mess of his clothes that lay in a small pile on the floor. They were folded, of course- Dean did that before his concussion acted up at the laundromat- but they didn't have a dresser in which to keep the clothes. Dad kept his things in his duffel. Sam took the opportunity to occupy the area against the left wall, where the bunk beds left a few feet of open space. Still, the pile wasn't organized at all and the hoodie would've gotten lost if he just threw it in there. _Nothing is out of place. No weird smells, no cold spot. So far so good._

Silently, he closed his bedroom door. He moved to the next room, which would be Dean's room. _He probably just fell asleep or something._ Dean's door handle squeaked as Sam turned it, making him jump.

"Sammy?" A groggy yet comfortingly familiar voice rang out in the darkened room.

The breath Sam didn't know he'd been holding rushed out shakily. He closed the pocket knife and stuffed it in his pocket before Dean could see it and call him a baby for being scared that someone broke in. "Yeah, it's me. Why are you in here with the light off?" Sam asked quietly. "Were you trying to sleep?"

"Yeah."

Sam frowned. _Why does he sound so weird? He sounds- he sounds like he's in pain._ "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

 _There it is again._ The tension and breathlessness of Dean's tone put Sam on edge. "No, you're not. I can hear it in your voice. What happened? What's wrong? Should I call Dad?"

"Nothin' happened. I'm jus' sore."

Sam heard something move on the bed and watched Dean slowly sit up in the light from the hallway. A frown spread across Sam's face when Dean grimaced and sat hunched over. _He didn't fall did he? Did he get hurt again? Or did something get worse? Or maybe it's just…_ "Did you take your medicine?"

"Yeah."

 _It should be working if he actually did. He should be sitting straighter than that._ "When?"

Dean groaned. "What is this, twenty questions? It was like- like… seven. At breakfast. You were there, you took yours, too."

"Did you take the next pain pill at lunch?" Sam asked shortly, folding his arms. "Or did you sleep through that?"

"Haven't been able to sleep all day, bud."

"So you took it?"

No response.

"Why didn't you take it?"

"Didn't eat lunch."

"Why didn't you eat lunch?"

"Wasn't hungry." Dean was lying and he knew it. He just hoped Sam wouldn't be able to tell. Truth be told, he still felt bad about using up their resources while he was recuperating; he tried to use as little as possible when he could swing it.

"Are you hungry now? It's been like eight hours since you ate, Dean. You should be hungry."

"I'm fine."

"You won't heal if you don't eat."

"I'm _fine._ " _I've lived half my life without food and yeah, I heal slow, but that's just how I've always been. Food probably doesn't have anything to do with it. Although, since John's been feeding me pretty regular, I_ am _healing faster than normal. But that could just be the medicine working._

Sam almost growled at him. "You missed one pill but you're not gonna miss two. Can you eat, or…?"

Dean rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. "I can get it, Sam. I gotta check on dinner anyways. Been a couple hours since I started it." He went to stand, but gasped and stifled a groan when something in his side felt like it caught fire. _Too long. Too long without meds. Why did I do this? Dammit…_ All day, he had tried to lie still to avoid the worst of the pain and maybe get some sleep, but both attempts failed, or so he thought. Turns out he _did_ avoid the worst of the pain. And now it was coming back to bite him. _Not the worst I've ever had. Focus on that. Not the worst. Not the worst._

Before he knew it, Dean was back on the bed with Sam's hands on his shoulders, keeping him upright. The kid looked worried when he could finally focus his eyes on him. Dean felt guilty at being the source of Sam's distress, but some of the tension rolled out of his shoulders where Sam held on and Dean had to admit that the tightness there hadn't let up for _days_. It was actually painful at that point, just adding to the overall ache in his body. It wasn't until Sam got a firm grip on his shoulders that the stressed muscles relaxed. For a moment, he remembered how much he missed sleeping with Sam in the room; his muscles were never so high strung then. Sleeping was so much easier when Sam was in the room. It was like the kid was his prescription, his drug. Send Sam in and Dean's body would loosen up; he could fall asleep in minutes knowing Sam was there and John was watching out for them both.

 _I never stood a chance at not getting attached. Who was I kidding? And now he's freaking out and it's my fault. He doesn't need this. Not on his first day of school, not ever. Shouldn't have said anything. Should've pretended I was out cold. How's he supposed to focus on school when I'm falling apart every day? Way to go, Dean._

"What hurts, Dean?" Sam asked as he did a quick visual once over like Dad taught him. No blood, unnatural angles, or foreign objects were to be found.

"I'm fine." Dean said through his teeth, trying hard to control his breathing.

Sam leaned down so that he was eye to eye with Dean and held Dean's shoulders square with his own so he couldn't turn away. Using a tone he usually reserved for when Dad really pissed him off, Sam spoke low and quiet. "Stop lying to me. Let me help you."

Dean couldn't speak for a moment. He was lost in the firm resolve that colored Sam's eyes. It was mildly alarming. _Why me? Why does he give a shit about me? I'm a grade A screw up and he still…_ "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just tell me what hurts." Sam said as he straightened up, keeping one hand on Dean's good shoulder in case he decided to take a tumble.

"My side. That's the worst one." Dean couldn't look at the kid, not now that he knew Sam knew he was being lied to and called him out on it. Shame gripped Dean's throat in a chokehold and he swallowed a lump just as his eyes started to prick. _Get so damn emotional when I'm beat like this. I'm such a crybaby. I gotta get it together. I'm so useless like this. He shouldn't have to baby me, I should be taking care of him. That's what I signed up for._

"Lay back down." Sam's voice was surprisingly gentle, which only made Dean feel worse. Numbly, he did as he was told, moving slowly to control the spikes of pain as he leaned against the wedge of pillows.

Sam didn't let go of Dean's shoulder until he felt the taut muscles there relax again in the relatively pain-free position. "Don't move until I come back."

"Yes, sir."

"It's Sam."

Five minutes later, Sam returned balancing a glass of water, a plate of toast, and a bottle of pills in his hands. "You have to eat it or I'm not gonna leave you alone."

Dean grinned and chuckled at Sam's adorable authority voice. "Who says I want you to leave?"

Sam handed the plate of toast over with a confused look on his face. "I thought you were trying to sleep."

"Been trying for eight hours, Sammy. It's not gonna happen."

"Well, you still have to eat it. Dad says the pill will-"

"Tear my stomach up if I take it without food. I know." Dean tentatively took a bite of toast and smiled when he realized there was peanut butter on it.

"So, you jus' gonna wa'ch me ea'?" Dean asked a moment later when Sam didn't move. He swallowed the delicious mouthful and motioned to the foot of his bed. "Sit down. Tell me about school."

"Uh, okay." Sam didn't really know why Dean would want to hear about his day at school, but he figured if he left the room, Dean would find a way to dispose of the toast without eating it. He had to make sure Dean ate all of it and then took the pills. So Sam turned on the light and immediately regretted it.

"Gah." Dean winced and covered his eyes with his good arm, toast still in hand. "Damn it."

"Sorry! Sorry." Sam quickly turned the lights off again and stood by the door, wringing his hands and worrying that he would be sent away for his stupidity. "I forgot you have a concussion. I shouldn't of… I'm sorry, Dean. I forgot…"

"It's okay, Sam. Just leave 'em off, please. I can handle light, but not all at once like that. I gotta let my eyes get used to it first." Dean slowly removed his arm and blinked a few times, shaking his head lightly.

"Or you get a headache." Sam frowned and looked to the floor, feeling like a jerk. "I shoulda remembered."

"Nobody remembers everything, Sam. But you better remember your day at school because I need something to take my mind off of this stupid kidney." Dean forced a small grin and motioned to the empty part of the queen sized bed again. "C'mon. I'll even start it for you. Once upon a time…"

Dean's plan to break Sam's gloomy posture and frown worked perfectly. The kid grinned and rolled his eyes before slowly moving to sit on the bed by Dean's feet. "It was kinda the opposite of a fairy tale, Dean."

"What, no dragon? What kind of cheap school is this?" Dean couldn't help but smile when Sam laughed.

"No. Well, my history teacher, maybe…"

* * *

"So he sat by you at lunch?" Dean asked curiously. He was glad Sam had someone to watch his back, but strangers were not to be trifled with. They were monsters until proven human in Dean's eyes.

"Yeah. He's really nice. And he lives by himself. He had a wicked step mother who kicked him out after his dad died. He got all his dad's money before she could get her hands on it."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "He doesn't have parents? At all? And he lives by himself?"

"His mom died having him and his dad died in a car wreck. He said he has an apartment. Why?"

"Lucky bastard." Dean muttered.

"What?" Sam heard him loud and clear, but wasn't sure what to make of the outburst.

"Lucky that he has the cash to live alone. Bummer about his parents, though. Guess him and me have something in common." Dean sighed and took the last bite of his toast.

"You said your dad is alive." Sam's voice was quiet, timid. He remembered that Dean's mom died when he was little, but to his knowledge, he thought Dean was _sure_ his dad was alive.

Dean pulled his knees up, trying to lessen some of the ache in his kidney. It helped, but not a lot. "He might be, but he's as good as dead to me. I don't think he looked for me for very long, if at all, when I was taken. Not after what I did. It's probably best we stay our separate ways." _Even if my separate way has almost killed me… a lot._

Sam debated asking the question that burned on his tongue and was actually caught by his brain before it slipped out. _What did he do that would make his dad not look for him? Dad wouldn't stop looking for me no matter what I did. Even if I turned on him and ran, he'd chase me down. He wouldn't leave me. He wouldn't let me go. Maybe Dean's dad was different, though. Maybe he wasn't like Dad. Maybe Dean's dad was more like Jerold. Maybe he really did abandon Dean. Maybe Dean wasn't taken at all; he was just left behind._

"Sorry." Dean rubbed at his eye again and sighed. "What happened after lunch?"

* * *

Sam's curiosity didn't get the better of him during that conversation. He felt it best to change the subject and let Dean calm down- he looked like he was going to cry. So Sam told him all about science class, Spanish class, English class, history class, and finally, gym.

"I like this guy already." Dean grinned, both at the guy picking Sam first and at the fact that his pain meds were finally kicking in. "What grade is he in?"

"He's a junior."

"And he's in your gym class?"

"It's a mixed class. Kids from all four grades are in it." Sam shrugged.

"Huh. Well, look at you, Sammy. Makin' friends already. You're a natural at this whole normal thing."

"I guess. I just wish he wouldn't have picked me first or made me pitch. I hate being singled out."

Dean frowned. "Why? I _know_ you aren't that shy."

Sam's eyes lost some of their light and he sighed. "A couple years ago, Dad let me join a soccer team. It was awesome and I loved it, but me and the team made the local paper after we won the district championship. They put in a picture and everything. Three days after the newspaper came out, Dad got a call from Uncle Bobby saying that some nearby hunters were finding a ton of vampire activity real close to us and heading our way. We left town an hour later; Dad took me out of science class, halfway through the day. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my friends. I was so mad, but I knew why we left. I can't get singled out or the vampires who are hunting me will find me." Sam picked at a string coming loose from his pants and frowned. "I really like it here. I don't want to leave again. And if I keep getting singled out, or somebody says my name to the wrong people, the nest will come and kill all three of us. I don't want to get you hurt again because I made another dumb move, Dean."

 _Hurt again?_ "But nobody knows your name, Sam. We're the Bennett's here, remember?"

"The nest looks for kids my age with my first name in a school's records and then they call the school and ask for Dad's name. That's how they look for us. Sometimes they say they're police, or a relative looking for me, or debt collectors… Dad got one of them to tell him all that the last time we found the nest and tried to wipe it out. A couple of 'em got away. He says they might not be doing that anymore now that we know about it, but still wants me to lay low. And that's hard when somebody is making you show off."

"Nobody made you show off, Sam. You could've faked it." The statement was said halfheartedly. Dean's mind was elsewhere at the moment. _What the hell is going on? That's exactly how Winthrop found_ me _last time. Could they be… could that be Winthrop's nest? They're targeting other families?! No no no… How many kids did they break?_ _No other humans- kids or not- came to live with us in those whole two years. Were they just… draining kids for kicks?_ Dean had to take a moment to collect himself. One deep breath and a hard swallow later, he came to a realization that was both comforting and devastating. _Sam's Dad was strong enough to protect him, keep him safe all his life. Mine couldn't even protect the baby and me from one raid by the fangs he left us to go kill._

Sam threw his head back and groaned. "But I _want_ to show off and when someone lets me I do it without thinking and then I regret it. I want people to like me, Dean."

 _You have no idea how lucky you are, kid. What could have happened to you… You are the most important thing in Dad's life and he actually knows it. Mine put himself before us and… What I wouldn't do to see my baby brother again._ Dean was glad the light was off. That way, Sam wouldn't see him blinking back tears. Kid didn't need any more worry in his life. Especially if Dean himself was the source. He tried to reinforce his voice with confidence and convincing assuredness. "People _do_ like you, Sam. Dad and me, and pretty much anybody you talk to. There's not much to _not_ like about you."

"Don't do that. You're not helping." Sam hung his head and tugged at the string. "I told myself I can have three friends at school. Any more than that would make me nervous about the nest coming in, because I know there are nests everywhere and Dad and me are pretty sure they communicate with each other."

"They do."

Sam looked over to Dean with shocked confusion in his eyes. "What?"

Dean shrugged and looked away. _Said too much again. Maybe I should tell John all the stuff I know about my- about Winthrop's nest._ "They kinda keep in touch. Not like closely, but more like extended relatives. I don't know. I just… heard it somewhere." _Straight from their own mouths._

"Great."

"But that doesn't mean they're gonna find you. I'll talk to… that guy tomorrow and let him know that we don't want to be talked about. But that doesn't make me any less impressed that you struck out four players." _I'll tell John tonight._

"Do you think you'll be able to make it tomorrow? You still look pretty tired."

"I'll make it." _I have to. John wants me to go tomorrow, so I'm going._ "Hey, what was the guy's name? You never said."

"Castiel. But I don't know his last name."

"What kind of a name is Castiel?"

"I don't know. But that's the name he told me."

"Huh… Bus ride home was okay? No bullies I have to take care of?" Dean grinned at the blush that filled Sam's cheeks in the light from the hall.

"It was fine. I can handle my own bullies, Dean."

"So there _are_ bullies?"

"No, that's not what I said. Nobody made fun of me today, which is like an all-time first for a new school. And I'm pretty sure even _I_ could beat you up right now." Sam motioned to Dean's sling and his side. "And I'm like a foot shorter than you."

"You could beat me up when I'm perfectly healthy, Sammy. You're like a ninja. I didn't even see you take down that gang dude, it was so fast. I wouldn't have a chance."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's shit-eating grin. "Don't be dumb, Dean. You're a hunter. I'm just a hunter's kid."

"Pretty sure you're a hunter, Sam."

He looked up and saw the sincerity in Dean's eyes. "Really?"

"Just because you still need your dad for some things doesn't mean you're a baby, Sam. Hell, you were out in the woods with a friggin' _wendigo_."

"Do you even know what a wendigo is?"

"…No. But that doesn't change my position in this argument."

"It's a cannibal that eats so many people that it becomes immortal and gets super fast. They take people and keep them in their dens until they're hungry during the winter. And they keep the people alive."

Dean shivered at the thought. _That SOB almost took_ me. _These guys really did save my ass. Well, more times than I thought, at least._ "But you were there and you weren't scared, were you?"

"Not really, but Dad was there, too."

"I was scared shitless when that thing came at me. You're a better hunter than I am if you stayed cool with that thing around."

"I wasn't getting attacked."

"You saved me."

Sam shut his mouth for a moment before turning away and wringing his hands. "I, uh… Dad saved you. I was just kinda there."

"You helped though. I know you did."

"Dean… I… I- I actually argued with Dad about going to find you in the woods- I wanted to go too but he wasn't going to let me- and… and… by the time Dad shut me up and we killed the wendigo and found you, you'd lost so much blood…" Sam bit his lip and closed his eyes. When he continued, his voice was barely a whisper. "I thought you were gonna die. I was sure I killed you. What kind of hunter whines about stupid stuff like that when someone is dying?"

Dean watched silently as Sam sniffed his nose and ran his arm under it before continuing to wring his hands in his lap. He looked so small. Not only in stature, but in confidence. His image of himself was all wrong. And that would not be tolerated. Not when Dean was around.

Dean didn't remember the first night, when he was attacked and the Winchesters found him. He barely remembered the next day. But nothing about his days of knowing Sam made him think that Sam had in any way made him worse off than he was when he landed on those roots with four long rips in his stomach. In fact, he remembered Sam making the whole ordeal a lot easier to bear.

His voice was soft and gentle when he finally broke the tense silence. "I didn't die, Sam. You played a big role in making that happen. I remember… I remember you gave me your hoodie. That was the warmest I'd been in months, Sam. Honest. And you made me coffee. You even gave me some of your food. I hadn't eaten in a few days when I followed you up the trails. You tried to get my name but I... I whined about stupid stuff instead. You said you would give me your candy if I would let John check my stitches. I wasn't exactly a shining example of a hunter then, was I? And you walked with me the whole time. Even when I was being a jerk. Even when I told you guys I could make it out on my own. _You never left me._ "

One deep, calming breath later, Dean continued. "John said you got sick helping him look for me after I drove away. _I_ got you sick, Sam. You're miserable because of _me_. But you still stayed with me in the hospital and hung out with me even though I wasn't the best company and hospitals suck. And then- then when John asked me to go with you guys, you were so excited to spend time with me and I just… I never had that before, y'know? No one was ever excited to spend time with me. I was always the burden or the pack mule or the slow kid who had to repeat a couple grades."

Dean nudged Sam with his foot, trying to get him to turn around again. Sam refused to move. "What kind of hunter finds a person like me and saves his life? What kind of hunter sacrifices so much for the benefit of a stranger? What kind of hunter moves halfway across the freakin' country so that the stranger could go to school and not get pneumonia again walking home? Sam, what kind of hunter looks out for someone who could leave at any time, who is practically worthless in a fight?"

"You're not worthless." Sam mumbled, sniffing his nose again.

"You help people, Sam. That's something _hunters_ do. Anyone else would have left me for dead in the woods. And even if they didn't, they'd have dumped me at the hospital and I would have just ended up back on the streets. I'd have been dead in a week." Dean nudged Sam again, harder this time. "Tell me what you're doing right now."

"What do you mean?"

"What are you doing? Right at this very moment. Humor me."

"I… I'm talking to you." Sam finally looked over, confused.

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't find you when I got home and I was… I was scared." Sam hung his head and crossed his arms, hugging himself as he made the admission. _Call me a baby, tell me I'm a wimp, I know it's all true. I was scared you left me- us. I hate being left behind._

"Scared of what?"

Sam shrugged and looked away, listing off some of his less embarrassing fears. "That something got you. Or that you passed out and got hurt falling or went comatose or died or something. Or left." He sniffed his nose and wiped it on his sleeve. It was a habit he was trying – and failing- to break. "And then when I found you and you were in pain, I was scared because what if something happened, like inside? What if a vein busted or something and you were dying? I couldn't do anything to save you in time. The ambulance might not make it before…"

 _No no no, don't cry. It wouldn't have been that big a deal. You'd be fine; you'd get over it fast. Dad wouldn't shed a tear or anything. You'd probably just move away. Forget me in a week. It's not like I'm all that important._ "You wouldn't be scared of those things if you weren't a hunter, Sam. Hunters protect their own."

Sam sniffed his nose and smiled a little. "If they mess with you, they mess with us. And we have guns."

"Exactly."

"You're really not mad that I could have gotten you killed?"

Dean scoffed and kicked weakly at Sam's leg. "The wendigo would have killed me, dumbass. Not you. There's no way you could throw me into a tree or cut me that deep with your fingernails."

"But I-"

"Kept me alive when I was trying to die." _He doesn't need to know that I really was trying to die. He never needs to know that. Not now that I don't want to die anymore._ Dean felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. _It's like I have a whole new life and Sam's at the center of it. I don't know how that happened, but I'm sure as hell glad it did. He's my reason for living now. I actually have a reason to live._

"I'm sorry."

Dean rolled his eyes and strangled a cough before it made its way out. "For what?"

"Putting me before you."

It was Dean's turn to be confused. "But you didn't do that."

"I held Dad up in the woods. I forgot to take my medicine and seized all day when Dad should have been watching out for _you_. I thought Dad was nuts when he asked you to live with us. And I keep feeling like Dad likes you more than me and it makes me mad." _Dad should love me more than Dean, right? I'm his only son. So why is Dad treating us the same? And why isn't Dean mad? I almost got him killed more than a couple times. He should be pissed now that he knows. But he's not. Why isn't he mad?_

"Sam, Dad loves you more than anything in the world. Nothing can change that. I couldn't change it if I tried." Dean coughed and squeezed his eyes shut as more and more kept coming. The outburst snuck up on him and sent waves of burning ache through his body as the violent coughing fit ensued. _Great timing, Dean. Great timing._

Sam watched as Dean struggled to breathe, trying to decide if he needed his inhaler or not. _Is he breathing enough? Why's his face so red? Why isn't it stopping? How long do I let it go until…?_

Sam found out how long a few seconds later.

 _Where's the inhaler?!_ As soon as Dean's eyes burst open with fear shining in them, Sam felt his whole body start to panic. Frantically, he searched the bed next to Dean for the little gray thing, but it wasn't on the bed where Sam thought it should be. He stood quickly, thinking that it might be in Dean's back pack.

He almost stepped on it; luckily, it slid out from under his toes before he smashed it. The relief in his chest was only there momentarily. Sam grabbed the inhaler and stood over Dean, who was even more red than before.

"Dean, here." Sam pulled Dean's good hand away from his throat and pushed the inhaler into it.

Dean was too busy trying to get oxygen to notice the object in his hand. _I just need one breath. Just one… I can't do this to Sam. He can't watch me die-_

" _Dean_ , c'mon." Sam gently shook his shoulder.

He got no response aside from a moment of choked silence.

A moment later, he took ahold of Dean's hand and pushed the inhaler to his face. "Hey. Breathe in as deep as you can, Dean." He spoke loudly so maybe Dean would hear him and understand.

The little silver cartridge released the albuterol into Dean's mouth and he winced. It was cold and he didn't know what was going on. He shoved at the thing, but it turned out that it was in his own hand. Not wanting to have his tongue iced again, Dean chucked the inhaler to the far wall, where it bounced off with a worrying snapping sound.

"Dean, no, you need that." Sam raced around the bed and picked up the inhaler. The case was cracked, but not broken. It would still work. He waited about thirty seconds- filled with shallow coughing and wheezing- before he moved in for another try.

Dean tried to cough harder, to somehow force his lungs to accept air, but another icy breath came into his throat and surprised him. Dean turned his head away and continued trying to stop the choking coughs, which were actually starting to die down. Something was on his shoulder, as he noticed mid-cough. That wasn't there before and was mildly alarming. His brain set it as priority number two, number one being the acquisition of a healthy amount of oxygen for staying alive to worry about priority two in the future.

"Should I call Dad?" Sam asked, once Dean's coughing started to alternate with shallow, life-saving breaths. He was still struggling to breathe and Sam didn't know what else to do. _Dad didn't tell me how to handle this situation. What do I do if the inhaler takes too long to work? Where's the phone?_ Almost as an afterthought, Sam pushed the inhaler into Dean's hand again before standing to look through Dean's bag for his phone.

 _Inhaler._ At last, Dean recognized the thing in his hand and confirmed it through blurry vision. He used it and then focused on breathing deep and slow.

"Dean?" Sam, phone in hand, returned and put his hand back on Dean's shoulder. He could gauge how hard Dean's body was trying to breathe with his hand in that spot and he relaxed a bit when he found that breathing was suddenly much easier for Dean.

Remembering that Sam was still with him, Dean let his head fall to the side, intent on calming the scared, unsure voice of his kid. _I'm sorry. Don't be scared._ "Hiya, Sammy." The sound was a forced croak with a small cough at the end, for punctuation.

"Should I call Dad?"

Dean shook his head slowly and suppressed a cough. "What do you think?"

Sam just stared at him for a moment. _What do_ I _think?_ "I think… I think you'll be okay in a couple minutes."

"Got it in one." Dean gave Sam a tired grin and reveled in the warmth of Sam's hand on his shoulder. "Must be hunter's instinct."

"I think you need to sleep. You're talking crazy now." _You scared me. Please, please don't do that again. What if I make the wrong call or I lose the inhaler and you…? I can't… Please don't go. Ever._

"Crazy is as crazy does."

A small smile crept up on Sam. _I get why Dad doesn't want you to go, either. Maybe... maybe it's okay that Dad loves you as much as me. It's not like he loves me any less. I don't know what having a sibling is like, but I think it would feel like this. Warm and squishy and annoyed and embarrassed and confident and happy and close and protected and… and safe. Having a big brother… I kinda like it. I could get used to this._ "Sleep." With that, Sam stood, took the dishes, and closed Dean's door behind him.

* * *

 **A/N: Someone requested more Sam and Dean time, so there you go! Hope you enjoyed it. Leave me a review and tell me what you thought!**


	23. Sad but True

**A/N: Vivi here! Nice to see you again. Welcome back!**

 **I am proud to say that I finally decided how to end this fic. Trust me, it's been a long time coming. But don't worry; it won't be for a few more chapters, at least.**

 **Warning: Language, mentions of violent abuse.**

 **Enjoy Sad but True!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _A small smile crept up on Sam._ I get why Dad doesn't want you to go, either. Maybe... maybe it's okay that Dad loves you as much as me. It's not like he loves me any less. I don't know what having a sibling is like, but I think it would feel like this. Warm and squishy and annoyed and embarrassed and confident and happy and close and protected and… and safe. Having a big brother… I kinda like it. I could get used to this. _"Sleep." With that, Sam stood, took the dishes, and closed Dean's door behind him._

* * *

John liked his new job well enough. Mr. Kabler wasn't particularly patient, but he was reasonable and had realistic expectations for his technicians. It was fast paced, just like John liked, and he could do almost everything that was asked of him. And the things he couldn't do, he figured out on the fly. All in all, he thought it was going to be a very rewarding short term gig.

That didn't mean he wasn't exhausted by the time he got off, though. Five o'clock rolled around and he wasted no time getting back to the house, eager to make sure his youngest made it home okay from his first day of school. He also wanted to make sure Dean was feeling better; the school believed his story about a minor car accident the day before, but he wasn't sure how long he could get away with letting Dean stay home to heal. Someone was bound to come around asking questions eventually.

"What is that?" John asked, completely confused as he entered their rental and smelled something rich and wholesome filling the air.

"Dean's making stew." Sam looked up from his seat at the little card table, where a math book and a sheet of paper nearly filled the surface. "How was work, Dad? Are you gonna keep this job or find another one?"

A smile spread on John's slightly grease-stained face. "It was good, Sammy. I'll keep it as long as they let me. Where's Dean?" His oldest was nowhere to be seen.

"He didn't feel good when I got home. I guess he hasn't left his room in like six hours." Sam shrugged. "I gave him his medicine and some toast and told him to sleep. And I stirred the stew a couple times. Hasn't burned yet."

"Good." John breathed halfheartedly as he quickly moved down the hall to Dean's room. He knocked twice. "Dean? You okay in there?"

A few moments later, the door swung open and there stood Dean with big bags under his eyes and a sickly red filling his cheeks. "Yes, sir." He was slightly hunched over and obviously in pain, but also obviously trying to hide it.

 _Oh, no. No, kid. Why didn't you call me?_ "You sure?"

"…no, sir."

John almost rolled his eyes. "You were in pretty bad shape yesterday. I'm not surprised you're achin' today. Were you sleeping?" _Please tell me you at least gave it a shot._

"Trying to." Dean sniffed his nose and tried to ignore the way his back cramped up when he stood. Sitting all day long in those hard plastic desk chairs would have been torture. He tried not to think about how bad tomorrow was going to be.

"Why don't you come out and take a seat on the couch so we can talk, huh? I'll get you something more for the pain and maybe Sammy can wear you out with one of his monologues." The light smile on John's face brought a tired one to Dean's.

 _I could go for another one of those._ "Thanks."

* * *

"They're advanced classes? All of 'em?" Dean raised his eyebrows at the kid sitting across from him at the table. If he had taken a mouthful of stew as Sam told them about his class schedule, Dean would've choked in shock. _He didn't mention_ that _earlier._

"Yeah. But I don't think they'll be too bad. The teachers seem nice and I already made a couple friends. Castiel has gym with me and he's pretty funny." Sam smiled and swung his feet under his chair. "He tells weird jokes."

"I'm glad you're making friends, Sam. Just don't let 'em distract you too much. I don't want your grades to drop just because you're at a real school." John stirred his stew, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was eating. He felt terrible about leaving the kid home alone that morning. What if he ran? What if his concussion acted up again and he wandered off? What if something- a gang, a nest, the police- came for him while John wasn't there to protect him? What if he was in so much pain that he couldn't get up? What if something worse happened?

"Do you usually have a lot of advanced classes?" Dean asked tentatively. _I knew he was smart, but he has a ton of advanced classes? He- they're always on the road. How did he pull that off?_

"What if they do, Dad?" Sam was glaring at his father, defiance written all over his posture. "What are you gonna do about it?"

John stared his son down in an exchange that made Dean uncomfortable just watching. _Must get his attitude from John. Probably runs in the family._

"Your grades better not drop, Sam. If they do, you'll be grounded for the rest of the semester. I'm not letting your GPA suffer just because you're going through a rebellious phase." John's voice was low and stern, like they'd had that same conversation many times before.

"They're _my_ grades, Dad. I can make 'em however high or low I want even if I'm grounded. It's _my_ future." Sam tried to match his tone to his father's, but much to his chagrin his voice hadn't changed enough yet to get that kind of rumble in it.

"Watch your mouth." John snapped, growing more and more agitated by his son's attitude. He hadn't had to deal with it since Dean showed up and he had been enjoying his break. _Hope this little ordeal doesn't scare Dean off._ "I will not be disrespected in my own home _by my own son._ If you don't keep your grades up, you'll never get into a good college. And you are going to college even if I have to drag you there myself. It's what normal kids do and it's what I wish I could have done when I was young. You're going to thank me one day for doing this. We won't be hunting monsters forever and you need something to do when we're done. I don't want this kind of existence for you- either of you- for any longer than is necessary." John looked from Sam to Dean just in time to realize his slip up. _If he's anything like Sam, Dean won't like that I'm planning his future, too._

"What?" Dean sank back in his chair, spoon and stew forgotten. _I'm supposed to hunt with them. That was the deal, right? If they're not going to hunt anymore…_

 _Dammit. Please don't let this be his breaking point._ "Hunting isn't a career, boys. Either you die young or you get good and die a little older. It's violent and dangerous and exhausting- it wears a man down until he's nothing like his old self. Until he's hardly human. I don't want that for you. Either of you."

 _What does he mean, 'either of you'? I get pulling Sam out and domesticating him and all that; he actually has a good chance at a life after hunting. But me? No way. And who the hell does he think he is? I'm not his to control. Hunting is all I've ever known and if he thinks he can just force me into school, into some pansy 'normal' life, he's got another thing coming. I'm not built for higher education. I do better with trial by fire. He can't force me into_ anything _. I can leave whenever I want. And I will. Why would he stop me? He's not my father. He would just kick me out when they're ready to move on anyway. One less future to deal with._ Dean felt something in his stomach bubble to life. It was familiar, but it hadn't come around much recently; it hadn't had reason to.

"What you want and what you get are two totally different things." Dean said, trying very hard to conceal the anger that was quickly heating his blood. "This is all I've ever known. You can stop worrying about me and my future right now, because you can't change a single thing about me, John. Hunting is my life's work. Those- those _things_ ripped me away from my family and there's no coming back from that. But I can keep it from happening to other people. I've worked too damn hard to figure out my place in the world and who I am and you're not going to take that from me. I understand your concern, the whole 'kids are our future' thing, but I am not your responsibility and you have no power over me. When you're done hunting, I'm gone." Dean watched John's face go from red and scowling to blank with barely concealed nervousness underneath.

The new expression confused Dean; why would John be nervous about not being able to change him? Or maybe he didn't want Dean to leave. Either way, it was none of his business what happened to Dean or what he did. At least in Dean's mind.

"Yeah, Dad. You can't change us." Sam glowered at his father once more.

John was too busy counting to ten and trying to keep from locking both his sons in the car and driving far away to hear Sam's snarky comment.

"Sam, he's your father. He wouldn't change you for anything."

"Huh?" Sam turned, looking innocently at Dean, whose frown was eerily similar to Dad's.

"He wants you to be able to have a life after all this is over. After you guys find those vamps who attacked you. He doesn't want to change you, he just wants to provide for you so you can have what you want later on. He loves you the way you are. He just wants you to understand him, where he's coming from." Dean couldn't believe his ears. Here was Sam- a smart kid with the world at his fingertips because his father actually took good care of him- trying to start an argument with said father about not wanting to be cared for. Dean would have _killed_ to have a parent who would do that for him. A parent who had the forward thinking to insist on preparing for the future even though it may not happen as planned. A parent who loved him so unconditionally that his education came second only to his survival and protection. John said he was going to slow down from hunting so Sam could have a semester at a real school, be a real kid for a while, and this was the thanks he got? A fiery tween-age brat talking back to him- yelling even- about how he was planning ahead for the kid's future?

Dean would have killed for that kind of love.

"What's to understand? He's micromanaging my life because I'm the only thing he has to focus on. It's been like that since I was born." Sam was surprised that Dean was taking Dad's side. He thought Dean would understand wanting freedom, but apparently not.

"He's trying to right his mistakes, Sam. He probably _never_ wanted this life for you but it happened and now he's trying to fix it so you can be normal." Dean felt the inklings of irritation start to mix with the anger in his belly. _Who made you think you were the center of the universe? He's trying to keep you alive, stupid. You're still a kid. How would you know what you need to do to get by in normal life? You've never had that._

"Well, he needs to stop. My life isn't broken, even if he thinks it is. There's nothing to fix, unless he can do something to magically take the seizures away." Sam crossed his arms and sat back in his chair with an angry thud. "And I know he can't do that 'cuz he and Uncle Bobby tried a couple times."

"Enough, Sam." John's voice was finally the level of calm that he tried to maintain when he and Sam argued. It was a small win. "You've got four years to change your mind. Until then, I better see A's and B's on those report cards. Finish your dinner." The father scrubbed one hand down his face and glared at his stew, now cooled to lukewarm and starting to congeal.

"Whatever." Sam turned to get up and leave.

That small action was enough to ignite Dean's anger. _You have everything I've ever wanted and you're just walking away from it?!_ "I was abused, y'know."

Both Sam and John looked to Dean in shocked silence. Sam sat back down slowly, not looking away, the previous argument seemingly forgotten.

Dean took a deep breath, suppressed a hiccup, and pushed on. "When I was taken from my family, a nest of vampires used me for _years_. And then I was rescued by this old hunter- I don't even know his name- and sent to live with Lucy and Jerold. I can remember being excited to finally live in a house with a family again. But for the next ten years, I was their chew toy. _I_ cleaned the house. _I_ maintained the weapons. _I_ was the one they took all their frustrations out on. _I_ cooked and washed clothes and waited hand and foot on those lazy assholes and _not once_ did they show me any kind of affection. Not once did they consider my future."

"I have been abused my whole life, Sam. I would have _killed_ to be in your position and I'm not just going to sit here and watch you throw it away like it's beneath you. John wants you to be able to do whatever you want in the future because he cares about you; you're his son. Jerold used me as bait until I was big enough to stand against a rifle's recoil. John takes you to the doctor and gets you medicine when you're sick and watches you like a hawk because he doesn't want to lose you. Jerold accidentally shot me once because he didn't look hard enough to see what the fucking shadow was before he pulled the trigger and then told me to suck it up because the bullet came out the other side. 'Just push on it until it stops bleeding, Ross. Man up, you pansy-ass, crying will get you killed out here.' He _left me_ in a swamp, in pitch darkness, without a flashlight, without a weapon, while he and his buddies tracked down the wolf he mistook me for. I was barely conscious when they came back- I was on the way back to the car, apparently- and they still made me walk the three miles to the road. But at least they waited for me in the car. How kind of them, right? There was no one to reassure me, or stitch the entry and exit wounds, or give me medicine, or make sure I didn't die in the night. No one looked for me when I passed out in the driveway at the house the next night. No one took me to the hospital when the wound got infected. No one brought me food or water when I was too weak to make it down the stairs. The school called Jerold because I was truant for an entire week. If they hadn't sent a police officer to the house, I would've died. _He_ took me to the hospital, sirens blaring. When I got out two weeks later, I had to hitchhike back to Jerold's house. He wasn't happy that he had to go to court for child endangerment. He made sure I knew it, too."

"Dean…" John almost couldn't breathe. He hadn't been prepared for what he heard. Granted, he knew Dean's time with the Ross' hadn't been pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but he never anticipated _that_ kind of treatment. He never thought his little boy would have to endure that kind of abuse _from humans_. Failure slapped him right in the face. _I… I wasn't there for you…_

John felt Dean's every anxious hiccup blast through his ears and stab at his illusion of decent parenting.

"I bet your Dad drives you to school when you miss the bus. I just missed school if I didn't make it in time. Gave up eventually, dropped out. It wasn't worth the pain anymore when the truant officer came and Jerold got mad. I know your Dad buys you food and makes sure you don't go hungry. I'm _eighteen years old_ and I've never weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds. You play pool for fun, right? I play so I can eat that day and maybe buy a new pair of socks now and then. You've never spent a night in your life being so alone that anyone could just come up and attack you or take you or mug you. I've been assaulted within fifty feet of fucking Main Street and no one even batted an eye. If I had a Dad who is even one tenth of the man your Dad is, I would be set for life, Sam. Maybe put a little perspective into your decision before you flunk out and end up five times the man I'll ever be."

The stunned silence in the room could have been shattered by the fall of a pin. It was shattered by a hiccup instead- John even flinched.

"I'm not hungry." Dean muttered quietly, wearily, before standing and setting his bowl in the fridge. He ran his arm over his eyes indignantly and made his way with heavy feet back to his room and away from the perfect little family who would surely send him away after that little outburst. _I should really - hic- eat before they kick me out. Don't know when I'll have the -hic- cash to get food again. Maybe I could take my meds with me. They're worth something -hic- I'm sure._

John watched his oldest son disappear into his bedroom, shoulders hunched like the weight of the world rested on them. And, he supposed, it did. At least in Dean's mind.

"Dad?"

John tore his eyes away from Dean's door and looked down to Sam. His youngest son was quite obviously upset. Cheeks flushed and eyes watery and hands wringing in his lap. "What is it, son? What's wrong?" _Everything. Everything is wrong. Be there for them now. Focus on now._

"Were Jerold and Lucy humans?"

Confusion colored John's face before he realized what Sam was getting at. "Yeah. But monsters can be human, too, Sam. Don't forget that. Sometimes they're the worst kind."

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Thanks for being my Dad. Even though I talk back all the time."

The most John could do was don a sad smile. "Thanks for being my kid, Sammy. Even though I'm still figuring out this whole parenting thing." _Dean will never have to go through abuse again. Not if I have anything to say about it. He's my kid, too, and he needs to feel like it even if I'm not ready to tell him yet._

Sam looked into his stew and pushed a few veggies around before speaking again. "Can we make sure Dean is okay after we stop hunting? I know he said he's gonna leave, but can we make sure he has food and stuff when we're not with him? I can get a job in a couple years and pay you back for it-"

"We'll make sure Dean doesn't go back to the life he had, okay? He'll never live like that again." _I won't lose either of you again._

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! By the way, in case you haven't noticed yet, all the chapter titles are songs. Just wanted to mention that.**

 **Leave me words. See you soon...**


	24. Bruised Oranges

**A/N: Vivi here! This chapter has been strangely difficult to get to post. This is attempt 3. Sorry for the confusion.**

 **I'm proud to announce that this fic is now 217 pages on my computer copy. Why say that now, you ask? Because I've been minimizing the chapters to 1 point font as I post them. I enlarged all of them to 11 point today and boom. 217 pages. I was kinda stunned.**

 **Anyway, thank you so much to all who reviewed so far! I've taken some advice and added a few things (but never taken away) to enrich the plotline. I'm flattered that some readers, like 'Guest' and Mungojassie, take the initiative to read this fic all the way through in one go. I salute you. That's a feat I could not accomplish.**

 **Warnings for this chapter: honestly I can't remember (and I literally wrote most of this last night, my memory is terrible) but it's not nearly as bad as the last one. All previous warnings apply, just in case.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"We'll make sure Dean doesn't go back to the life he had, okay? He'll never live like that again."_ I won't lose either of you again _._

 _"Thanks, Dad."_

* * *

"Dean?" John quietly knocked three times on his son's door. He had given Dean an hour to come back out and get some more food before his worry got the better of him. "There's plenty of food left out here. I can make something else if you don't want stew."

No response.

"Please come out, Dean. You need to eat so you can heal. I don't want you to be hurting any longer than you have to be. At least eat something small so you can take your medicine without a stomachache."

No response.

"Dean? You okay in there?"

Nothing.

"Dean?" John slowly opened the door and let the light from the hall pour into the small, dark room.

Dean was huddled on his bed, under the blankets, facing away from the door. The wedge of pillows had been flattened, with most of them tossed to the carpet. The first thing that popped into John's head had his heart pounding in an instant. _Can he breathe like that? Is he getting enough air? What if- what if he's trying to-_

Almost Dean's whole head was covered in the green blanket John bought for him, with only a tuft of blond hair sticking out over his pillow. He wasn't moving or snoring or reacting to John in any way, so John quickly and quietly walked into the room and around the bed to see if he was asleep. _Please be asleep and not…_

He was awake and laying perfectly still, staring blankly at the wall with the occasional slow blink being the only motion John could see. No tears, no frown, no sleepy eyes. No hiccups. Just silent, still, empty emerald pools.

But he was breathing. Granted, it was slow and shallow, but he was breathing. _Thank God._ John's hands shook just a little at the rush of panicked adrenaline that was slowly wearing itself out now that he knew his little boy was alive and probably not trying to kill himself.

"Hey, kiddo." John said softly, kneeling down next to Dean's bed so he and his son were at eye level. "Feelin' okay?"

Dean shook his head and blinked slowly, refusing to look at John. A soft hiccup escaped.

The father sighed and ran a hand through his own hair, finding a spot of grease from work as he did so. "Why don't you come eat something and take a few pills? Then you can come right back in here and sleep 'til your heart's content. I won't bother you again, if that's what you want."

Dean closed his eyes.

"Is this about what you said earlier?"

Dean nodded slowly and hiccupped again.

"Y'know, Sam and I stopped arguing right after you left. I think he actually heard what you were saying. I did, too." Another deep sigh escaped John; heart to heart moments were never his forte, but he made the effort now and then. This certainly seemed like a good time for one. "The Ross' should never have treated you like that. No human being should be treated the way you were by those people. You… you are someone special, Dean. You are not a labor force or a 'chew toy'."

Dean sniffed his nose and pulled the blankets up further, effectively hiding himself from John's view.

 _No, kid, don't shut me out. Just let me be your Dad. Let me help._ "I know you probably don't believe me, but I meant it when I said I have your best interests in mind, Dean. Sam and I… we want you to stick around. Sam even offered to get a job so he could pay for your living expenses. He won't have to, of course- that's my job as your guardian- but it's the thought that counts. Don't go, Dean. I promise to look after you even when Sam and me are done hunting for good. You can stay with us. You don't have to go back to your old life, son. I don't want that for you. Ever."

 _Son. Can I just play pretend until you leave? Can I just pretend you're my Dad and I'm your son and Sammy's my awesome little brother? Can I pretend you're taking care of me because you love me and not because I might come in handy some day? I know the crash will kill me, but can I pretend I belong? You don't have to change a thing. I know you wouldn't even if I asked. You'd probably just laugh at me and stop being so nice. I'm hired help, not blood. A fixer-upper you got for cheap so you could turn a profit one day. I know my place, but can I pretend?_

"I'm not a project." Dean mumbled though the layers of snot and blanket. "Why would you take care of me when you have nothing to gain from it? I'm only good at hunting, and even then I get hurt all the time. I can't even read, for fuck's sake."

"Language, kid. We're not hicks. You and I both know you can read, Dean. And you might be good at hunting, but that's not all you are. That's not what defines you." John watched for any reaction, but was disappointed. "And as hunters, we don't abandon our own. I won't leave you behind." _Never again._

"I'm not your own."

 _Yes, you are. You always have been._ "You're a part of our unit here, Dean. I wouldn't leave you behind any sooner than I'd leave Sam."

Dean pulled the blanket down to look at John in the darkened room with even darker eyes. "Why would you say that?"

"Say what? The team part, or-"

"Why the hell would you compare me to _Sam_? He's your _son_. I'm just some homeless kid you plucked out of the woods and fixed up. _Of course_ you would take him and leave me behind if things went south. No one has ever _not_ left me behind when the hunt goes bad." Dean didn't try to restrain the anger and frustration he felt at John's words. _Maybe Sam's not as safe with this guy as I thought. If he'd rather save a stranger than protect his own son then maybe Sam should come with me when I leave… But who am I kidding? John might have screwed up priorities but there's no way I could keep Sam safe when I leave. He's better off here, with Dad. I could never keep him alive on my own. Couldn't even keep my brother alive._ I'm _the one who killed him._

" _We_ didn't leave you." John pointed out calmly. "We didn't leave you in the woods. We didn't leave you in the city. We didn't leave you in the hospital. We won't leave you here when we go, and we won't leave you behind when we stop hunting. You matter to us, Dean. Both of us."

 _How can he… Why would he say that?_ "You people are crazy." Dean said halfheartedly, sniffing his nose and flinching as a hiccup snuck up on him. _They're not gonna kick me out today? Maybe… maybe not ever? Maybe I_ can _pretend. Maybe I_ am _safe here._

John couldn't help but smile when he saw his son lighten the darkness in his eyes. And the endearing hiccups might have helped a little, too. "Crazy works. For us, at least."

Dean huffed a laugh and sniffed his nose just as his stomach growled. Blush filled his cheeks even in the dark room. _He's probably not happy that I acted like a hormonal teenager back there. Maybe I should just… I don't know. Stay out of his way for a while. Try to be less of a pain in the ass. Make myself useful around here and do more for them than they do for me. I'll- I'll make him glad he risked his life to save me, and wasted his time searching for my sorry ass, and sat around in the hospital for days, and- and… and treated me like a son. Signed me up for school and found me when I got lost. Literally picked me up off the ground and…_ Dean couldn't help but feel guilty for thinking what had been running through his head for a long time. He didn't regret it though. _He made me feel loved. I'll make it all worth it. I have to. I'd do anything to stay here with them._

"Stew or something else? I can make a mean kitchen sink cure-all. Enough cayenne to clear your sinuses for a month."

John's attempt at humor and the kindness in his eyes almost had Dean in tears yet again.

 _They really are perfect._

* * *

"Sam, leave Dean alone for a while." John said sternly after listening to Sam apologize to Dean for the third time. Poor kid felt bad for making his life of luxury seem like some kind of punishment when Dean's was nearly a death sentence. Punishment for just existing.

And now Sam was keeping Dean from eating his reheated stew with all his mopey regret and awkward apologies.

"It's okay, Sam. Really. I'm not mad." Dean's voice was quiet and subdued. He was making a solid effort to get his shit together and be less of a burden on the Winchesters, both physically and emotionally. Even though he was _very_ hungry and hadn't had more than two bites yet. "Not mad at you, at least."

"But-"

"Sam, do you have homework?" John asked from the couch, where he was leafing through the local newspaper looking for anything suspicious. He had no intentions of taking on a case. He just wanted to make sure nothing freaky was happening nearby. If they needed to run, he needed to know ahead of time, before _anything_ happened. Any head start was better than none.

"Yeah, but-"

"Come over here and get it done, then."

 _Bossy._ "Why do you have to do that all the time? You could just ask. You don't have to friggin' command me to do stuff. I'm not a soldier."

John sighed and closed the newspaper, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to ignore the headache he felt coming on. _Count to ten. I love my son. He's just like me, though, and that's the problem. If I snap back at him, he'll go off on me and Dean won't finish his food. If I don't acknowledge him, he'll get mad and shut himself in his room. If I try to explain myself, he'll just roll his eyes and I'll be the bad guy again. Dean needs to eat. Sam needs to do his homework and get to bed on time. I can deescalate this. I have to._ "No, you're not. You're my son. _Please_ give Dean some time to eat and start your homework." John managed to keep his voice even and subdued, leaving all the frustration in the dark pit where he shoved most of his unpleasant feelings.

"What if I don't want to?"

 _Dammit, Sam. Didn't we just talk about this?_ "Sam, Dean needs to eat. Please let him eat." John looked to his littlest with tired eyes.

The day had been long for everyone and it really showed. Sam was pissy, Dean was quiet, John was frustrated. The father wished the attitudes of his kids would cancel each other out; Sam and Dean wouldn't be silent, but they wouldn't be at John's throat either. They'd get a happy medium attitude that John could handle with ease. But you don't always get what you wish for.

Then again, sometimes you do.

Sam's voice wasn't angry when he spoke again. It was more… passive after he looked between Dean and Dad a few times. Dean's head was down, posture hunched again. Sam always thought he looked like a scared puppy when he did that. _Dad's a jerk but… he just wants Dean to be able to eat without me distracting him. I guess I didn't see that he wasn't eating while I was talking to him. He looks hungry. Really hungry._ A pang of guilt hit Sam's stomach and he looked at the table for a moment before speaking. "I… Yeah. Well, my English homework is gonna take a while, so I should start that now, I guess."

 _I don't really care what you do, as long as that kid gets a meal in him and you don't do anything stupid._ "Good idea, son."

* * *

"Can't believe I have homework after _one day_ at school." Sam grumbled from the floor in front of the television, where he had several textbooks spread out as he worked on his assignment. "Who cares about the stupid Montagues and Capulets anyway?"

"'How much salt water thrown away in waste'…" Dean muttered from his seat on the couch. The trio were absently watching a static filled rerun of one of the old Godzilla movies. Dean finally finished his food and John was pleasantly surprised when the kid stuck around afterward. The older two were sat on the couch- a two-seater- with Sam sprawled out in front of them, constantly whining about his homework just like any other thirteen year old would do.

"Still at it?" John asked, nudging Sam with his toes.

Sam swatted at his father's foot and grumbled. "I'm almost done. This is the last thing."

"Well hurry up, you're missing the movie." John said with a smile. Then a thought popped into his head. _I wonder if Dean remembers…_ "Hey, I picked up some fruit the other day. Anybody want anything?" He stood and went to the fridge, where he produced an orange in all its glory. John watched Dean's eyes go wide, all of his attention focusing in on the bumpy fruit. _Well, he still likes 'em at least._

"Yeah." Sam grinned at the sight before him. "I haven't had oranges in forever."

"Dean? You want one?" John asked as he tossed one to Sam, who set it beside his notebook to continue working.

"Uh…" _I can't keep wasting their resources. I'm not even that hungry anymore and fruit is expensive. They should save that for themselves. I'll be fine without it._ "No, thanks."

John watched the gears grind in his oldest son's head. The initial spark of excitement in his eyes at the sight of the orange was squashed by some kind of thought, making him look away and down at the carpet as he answered. "Why not?"

That got his attention. "Huh?"

"What's your reason for not wanting an orange?" John took two more from the fridge and closed it, returning to the couch.

Dean didn't know how to answer that. "I… just don't like oranges?"

 _You loved oranges when you were little._ "I'm calling your bluff."

The kid blushed, eyes wide and guilty at having been caught in another lie. _How does he always know when I'm lying? Is there like a Dad-sense or something? Does he know when Sam lies?_

"Here." John quickly peeled the thing, splitting it in half before holding it out to Dean. He knew Dean would have a hard time getting the rind off with his sling on. That was the reason John took to opening things before Dean even go to them. All the frustration and embarrassment he could spare his son made it worth the effort. "Just try it."

"I- I'm okay."

"Humor me."

With a defeated sigh, Dean split off a slice and savored every bite of it.

John just set the rest of the orange in Dean's lap. No one commented on it when Dean ate the whole thing, smiling to himself.

A fuzzy memory trickled into the back of Dean's mind as the sweet taste filled his world. This memory didn't have fear or pain attached to it, so the images made it all the way to his consciousness. All others were normally filtered back into the void before he could see them in detail; he'd learned to repress the panic, the fear, despair, the pain, the bitter numbness that most of his memories held. This one was different, though. He hadn't seen this one in a very long time. Actually, Dean couldn't remember ever seeing it before. Nevertheless, the blurry scene took him by surprise.

He didn't see what color the walls were, or what was on the floor. White, orange, carpet, tile- it didn't matter. He didn't even remember what color the sheets were, or if they were scratchy or soft.

All Dean could see in his head was his baby brother, sitting in front of him on the bed, swaying occasionally because he was still getting the hang of sitting on the pliable surface. Kid had mastered firm seats and had even taken his first steps, but motel beds were his Everest, his biggest challenge. Dean remembered giggling at him and trying to help him by putting his own legs on either side of the baby.

Dean remembered his laugh.

That was something he was sure was as far gone as his face and his name. Yet there it was. Clear as day. The baby laughed and held on to Dean's leg when he supported him.

With his other hand, his little brother was holding a squeezed, leaking, and thoroughly sucked on slice of orange. It was all over his face – or what blurry and uncertain features Dean's mind put on him, at least - and probably staining his clothes. Dean could see the rest of the orange, sitting on its peel next to him on the bed. It had been a gift from Daddy. That much he knew for sure, in his very soul. All the good things in his brief childhood had come from Daddy. Because Daddy loved him. Daddy loved Dean and the baby.

But this memory, good as it was, didn't have Daddy in it.

And Dean was okay with that. It was nice to remember his baby brother outside a nightmare for a change.

"I haven't had oranges in like seven years." The statement escaped Dean's mind before he even realized it was there.

"Why not?" Sam asked casually, not looking up from his textbook.

"They stopped putting them in school lunches and they're kind of expensive. I could get almost a whole meal for the price of one orange." Dean shrugged. "My-" He stopped short, habit having shut the memory down before he could replay it in his head. He swallowed hard, holding back any signs of emotion that would elicit pity or unnecessary attention from the people _he was supposed to be working for_. His baby brother's memory – and the burden that came with it - was _his_ , not theirs. No matter how much they did for him, they could never take that away.

"Your what, Dean?" John asked, concerned at the sudden shift of demeanor in his son. _C'mon, open up for once. Let me see who you are now._

"Nothing. It's nothing."

"You feelin' okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" _I shouldn't make them worry about me. I just have to suck it up and deal. They should know what they're getting into, right? They're keeping me alive; I can't keep secrets like this anymore. Not when they're paying to keep me alive. But I won't tell them the whole thing. They can never know the whole truth._ "My, uh, my… my _Dad_ used to buy oranges for us. My real Dad. He would peel 'em for me and let my little brother kinda munch on 'em. He didn't have enough teeth yet to really bite… them…" Dean looked up and saw both Sam and John staring at him. "What?"

"You have a brother?" Sam asked in amazement. He was a little jealous; it felt like he had to share Dean now, and he didn't like that. Not that Dean belonged to him or anything. But still.

Dean gave them one humorless laugh, which was more of a breathless sigh than anything. "No. Not anymore. He, uh… he died when I was little." _I can't- I don't want them to know what happened. They'll kick me out. I'll be dead in a week. I won't tell them._

 _What the hell? Dean remembers Sam? Then why- how- why does Dean think Sam is dead? Is he lying to protect himself? Or… or does he really not know what happened? Come to think of it, how could he know? He was long gone when I found Sam in the closet. He thinks the vampires killed Sammy. But if he remembers Sam, then why hasn't he made the connection between us yet? He knows his brother's name was Sam. Sammy's the right age. They know their mother died when they were young – I've heard them talk about it. Both were hurt by vampires – how has Dean not realized who we are yet? Unless…_ John, worry gripping him, posed one question. "What was your brother's name, Dean?"

That made Dean freeze up. _I can't lie and give them some random name. They'll keep bringing him up with the wrong name and I'll go insane. But I can't tell them I don't remember either, because what kind of brother would that make me? I_ do _love my brother. I'd trade my life for his any day. But they would judge me for losing his name. I- I didn't want to. Winthrop just… kept me busy. I never wanted this, I never thought… I don't even remember what the baby looked like anymore._ "Why does it matter?"

 _Because I want to know if you've known who we are the whole time._ "Because he's your brother."

"You promised you wouldn't ask about my past." Dean tried to change the subject. _I can't do it._

"You brought it up."

 _Dammit._ "Yeah, well, I didn't mean to. I just- I forgot how much he loved oranges and- and I got this stupid picture in my head of him and me on some motel bed sharing one that our Dad gave us and- it's not important." Dean cringed at his own words. His baby brother's memory _was_ important; he hadn't meant to downplay his family like that.

 _He doesn't remember Sam's name._ _He remembers more than I thought he ever would, but he lost Sam's name._ Dread washed over John as he wondered just how the time he spent with the vampires and the Ross' could have scrubbed so much from his son's mind. He could only guess; no way was he asking about that. Not yet.

"But he was your brother. He's _automatically_ important, Dean." Sam said from his spot on the floor. He had tuned in to the whole conversation, his one page essay about Juliet completely forgotten.

"I know, I didn't mean- I didn't mean it like that. I can barely remember him anymore and it's… hard to think about him. I knew the kid his whole life and he couldn't even talk by the time-" _I killed him._ Dean felt his cheeks get hot and his eyes start to itch. _Why am I such a crybaby? I just need to suck it up and deal, because the Winchesters don't need me to dump all this pain on them. That's not what they signed up for._ "Sorry."

John watched Dean duck his head, trying to hide his face and the emotion John _knew_ was attempting to break him from the inside out. _Please don't cry again, Dean. Sam's not dead, he's right there, whining about his homework, eating an orange. Maybe I should… but what if you think I'm lying? If I tell you now, you'll will flip and leave because I 'replaced' your brother with Sam. But dammit, you don't have to be in so much pain and it's killing me to watch you go through this._ "Boys, there's something I need to-"

* * *

 **A/N: First of all, I HAVE THE FEELS TOO AND I WROTE IT. Secondly, surprise! Cliffhanger! I originally had** ** _one more sentence_** **tacked onto the ending of this chapter but then the cliffhanger wouldn't have been as good. So you'll get it next week, as the first line of the next chapter. Mwahahaha!**

 **Leave me a review; I love hearing from you guys and gals!**


	25. Enter Sandman

**A/N: Vivi here! It's a day late (because I wrote most of it today because I didn't feel like memorizing pharm stuff) but it's a couple thousand words longer than usual (not intentional, but there you go). I didn't have a lot of time to review this chapter, so please excuse my spelling or grammar errors.**

 **Warnings for abuse and language.**

 **There's a lot of time jumps in this chapter, so use your context clues to get oriented. Almost every line break is a time jump. But not all of them. Stay on your toes!**

 **Also, remember when I said the last chapter almost had one more line? Mwahahaha...**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John watched Dean duck his head, trying to hide his face and the emotion John knew was attempting to break him from the inside out._ Please don't cry again, Dean. Sam's not dead, he's right there, whining about his homework, eating an orange. Maybe I should… but what if you think I'm lying? If I tell you now, you'll will flip and leave because I 'replaced' your brother with Sam. But dammit, you don't have to be in so much pain and it's killing me to watch you go through this. _"Boys, there's something I need to-"_

* * *

Bobby had the worst timing.

The buzzing phone shattered what fragile resolve John had worked up. It was on the counter, making all sorts of noise and ruining the biggest moment of John's life. He let his head fall into his hands, a frustrated growl being the only sound besides that annoying buzzing in the tense air.

Dean flinched as his eyes snapped to the sound. "Who- uh, who's phone is that?" He dragged his good arm across his eyes and stood, desperate to get away from the awkward situation he'd jumped into. The phone wasn't his. At least he didn't think. He was pretty sure his didn't look like that. And the caller ID read 'BS' and Dean had no idea what that meant. "It says BS. John?" Dean picked up the phone and held it right next to John's head, which was still in his hands. "I think it's for you."

John took the phone, trying not to rip it out of his son's hand and pitch it directly through the drywall, which would startle them both and undoubtedly open a whole new can of worms. "Thanks." He stood and went outside, shutting the door firmly before answering the little torture device. He quickly walked around the house, far from the living room so the boys wouldn't hear.

"John-"

"Dammit, Bobby, can't I spend one evening with my family in peace?"

* * *

Back inside the house, Sam was dying to know what Dad was about to say. It sounded important. Something that Dad thought both he and Dean needed to hear. He could only guess at what it was. Had Dad picked up on vampire activity nearby? Did they have to move again? Did something happen to Caleb or Pastor Jim or Uncle Bobby? Was their card denied? Did they finally get traced for Dad's credit card fraud? Were they giving up hunting for good this time? The suspense was killing him.

Sam decided he could maybe finish his homework before Dad got back… or just say he finished it and do it later, or during class tomorrow. Or maybe not at all. Dad would love that. Who needed to know about Juliet anyway? She could wait until after Sam knew what was going on.

He turned to look over his shoulder, where he expected Dean to be standing, wondering what was happening just like Sam was. He wasn't there.

Dean had already quietly retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him, leaving the light off. He settled on his bed and tried to calm the panic in his head. _Why did I do that? They didn't need to know about my brother. Get it together, Dean. This isn't what they signed up for. Maybe… maybe I have more reasons to leave than I thought. I'm a danger and a burden to them. But I'm not ready to go- I don't know the city, there's at least one gang after me, and I couldn't run from anyone if I had to. It'll be a week at least until this concussion goes away and probably two more before I can take the sling off and actually use my arm. If I leave, I'll probably get kidnapped again or picked up by the cops … if I get lucky. Which isn't likely. In all my time at the last city, I was only taken to the station twice. This place is probably no different. What's the better option here: die alone on the street or be slaughtered alongside the Winchesters when Winthrop finds me? Can't be long now. Two years is already way overdue for a visit._

 _Can't let that- let_ him _get to Sammy. I won't._

"John-"

"Dammit, Bobby, can't I spend one evening with my family in peace?"

 _What the hell? Is that-_ Dean stood and rounded the bed to stand before the window. Very slowly, he parted the blinds and looked out to see John, on the phone, leaning against the house not a foot from his window. Dean could hear everything.

"When have you ever spent an evening with your boy in peace?"

"It's been a while. That's why I'm trying to make the time. And the effort."

"He been ornery lately?"

 _Who is that? Who is Bobby?_ Dean let the blinds close and quietly took a seat next to the window. He didn't feel bad about eavesdropping. Rarely had. If someone was going to say something out loud, it was meant to be heard. So what if he heard it, too? That info could prove valuable in the future.

"You have no idea; it's worse than it usually is. He's been a nightmare."

 _Who are they talking about? Sam? Can't be. He's not that bad; kid might spit some fire but he's pretty level headed most of the time. Then… me? John told someone about me?_ Dean felt his chest clench. If John told someone where Dean was, then Winthrop was probably halfway there already, if not in town that very moment. _He must've had a reason, though. A good reason. Right?_

"Give the boy some slack, John. He's been on the run for too long already and kids need more structure than that to come up healthy and, well, normal."

"But he's not normal, Bobby. You and I both know that. I think all this is just because he's got a bug messin' with his system. He's been quiet recently and it's just starting to flare up again."

"Quiet? Since when?"

"Since… y'know. The kid."

 _What kid? He- he didn't tell anyone I got Sam attacked by a gang, did he? I wonder how fast John's people can run…_

"He takin' it hard?"

"Yeah."

"Always was a bleedin' heart. He'll come around. Speakin' a that, I need you to do something for me."

"What is it now?"

"Don't get that attitude with me, John. You know you owe me one; said so yourself."

"Yeah, I remember."

"That woman who was lookin' for the kid you lost, she wants him back. Still. And she won't stop calling me. As in, ten times a day won't stop. I've damn near lost my mind because of that pain in the ass. Wants your number, always asks all teary-eyed and sincere until I tell her no. She's threatened me more than you have, John."

 _John lost a kid? But how- he's so protective of Sam. How could he lose a kid? When? Who was it? Was it… how many other kids did he have? Sam hasn't mentioned any siblings. Neither has John. So whose kid was it? Must have been that woman's kid. What could John have done to take a child from their mother like that?_

"You give her my number?"

"No. But I'm fixin' to if this keeps up. I want _you_ to call her. Tell her what you told me and get her off my back."

"Bobby, I don't want anything to do with this."

 _And he's trying to avoid her? John's not that kind of person… is he?_

"Neither do I. So call the woman and end it."

"Bobby, he told me what she and Jerry did to him."

In an instant, every hair on the back of Dean's neck was on end, his heart pounding, his every muscle tensed to make a quick escape should he need to. John was talking about _him_. And if Dean understood the conversation, _he_ was the kid John lost.

And Lucy was the woman who wanted him back.

 _No no no no no. This is not happening. How does she know who John is? How does she know I'm with him? What's going- this can't be happening. She can't ruin this for me, too… but it makes sense. I've never had anything this good and there's probably a reason for that. I'm nobody, I have no one. My own_ father _isn't even looking for me anymore. I don't deserve a single good thing in this world and it's about time the world got its shit together and reminded me._

 _Tonight then. I'll leave tonight. John will tell Lucy where I am and I can't be around when she comes. What if John tries to keep me here until she gets here? I- I can't fight John. There's no way. Not after all he's done for me. Not after he treated me like his own kid._

 _But I can't go back to Lucy._

 _If… if I leave right now, while he's still outside, around the house, I have a chance._

"Well, tough shit. I get that he didn't have a silver spoon kind of life, but the woman raised him and _you_ are the last person to see him. She just wants her family back, John. You know what that's like."

"I _never_ hurt my children. They _never_ went without food or medical care or protection."

"But they did, John. That's why you only have _one_ son now, remember?"

 _John had another son?_

"I will not call that woman, Bobby."

"Then she'll call you."

"Bobby? _Bobby_? Dammit."

 _Move._ Dean stood from where he had been sitting and picked up his coat, fishing out his beads and stuffing them in his pocket. He then went directly to his bedroom door, without the coat. Nothing in the room belonged to him. He had no right to take any of it. He needed it, sure, but it wasn't his and he wasn't about to steal from the only people who had shown him any compassion in the last decade or so. Even if they might be working with Lucy.

He felt bad about stealing the clothes he was wearing, but he didn't really have a choice.

"Hey, Dean. Everything okay?" Sam asked as Dean walked by fast, on a mission to miss John on the way out. Sam was just packing his bag, hiding the homework he didn't want to finish before Dad came back.

"Yeah, Sammy. Everything's gonna be okay." Dean couldn't bring himself to look at Sam. He didn't want to see the disappointment that might be in his eyes. Or the suspicion, or the worry. A clean break would be easier for Sam. Sure, he would wonder what happened for a while, maybe a few days, maybe even a week. But he would forget soon enough. He had John, and his new friend. Chase? No… Casey? Carmen? _Cas_. He had Cas now. Sam didn't need Dean anymore. He survived his whole life with just his father anyway. It's not like Sam _ever_ needed Dean. He never needed to know how much he meant to Dean; really, it was pathetic that Sam was Dean's first and only real friend. The two 'friends' Dean had at that one high school just sat at the same table during lunch and study hall. They spoke to him at least once a day, asked how he was and kinda listened when he lied about the bruises. He… he hadn't heard from them since they went to college, two years after he dropped out.

Needless to say, the skies were never as bright as they were when Sam and John were around.

Dean didn't want Sam's disappointment etched into his memory. He had enough rejection and pain and death there. All that Dean wanted to remember of Sam were the happy things, like his smile, his laugh-

The baby had dimples.

Dean paused with his hand on the doorknob, shocked at the image that jumped into his head. Chubby, reddened cheeks complete with dimples and the laugh he remembered earlier. Without thinking, he looked back to Sam, shock written all over his face.

Sammy had dimples, too.

 _Don't do this again. There's no way the Winchesters, out of all the fathers and sons in the world, could be_ my _family. I killed my brother. There's no way Sam's the kid I left in that closet. I just- I have to go. Now._

Dean was almost pushed over as the door opened against his hand, bumping into his good shoulder before he realized what was happening.

 _Too late._

"Dean? Sorry, kid. I didn't know you were standing there." John came in and closed the door as Dean slowly backed away across the kitchen floor. "Somethin' wrong?" Concern immediately had John on high alert. Dean was acting funny again. That was never a good sign.

"Uh, no. Just- I just have a headache. Think I'm going to bed." Dean turned as quickly as he thought he could get away with without upsetting John and went to his room, firmly shutting the door. He sat against the wall and let his head rest on his knees, struggling to figure out how he could get away without being caught.

John was as confused as Dean was nervous. "What's up with him?"

"I don't know. He went to his room when you left and then he came out in a hurry and looked like he was going outside. He said everything was fine." Sam set his back pack against a kitchen cabinet and joined his father in looking down the hall at Dean's door. "I don't think I believe him."

"He say anything else?"

"Nope."

John, puzzled at the newest shift in Dean's behavior, turned to Sam and saw the back pack closed with all Sam's homework materials gone from the floor. _Even Sam's not that fast._ "Finished already?"

"Got the paper written out, and the references are done." Sam said. It was true that the references were complete; Sam had actually noted the lines that he used in his paper when he found them. And it was true that the paper was written out. Just not all of it. But Dad didn't need to know that part.

"That didn't take long."

"I work fast."

"Alright." John could only halfheartedly worry over Sam's homework. There would be other assignments; if he failed this one, the others that John could check would buffer it out. "It's late."

"I know." Sam rolled his eyes without thinking, earning a stern glance from his father. "I'm going, I'm going." The kid trudged off to their room to get ready for bed. The movie was over anyway.

 _What has gotten into Dean today? He's never acted like this._ John wanted so badly to go to his son's room and ask about it, but Dean shut his door and already had the light off. He wanted to be alone and John knew that pestering him when he had a headache was probably not the best idea. _We'll see what the morning holds, I guess. If he's still out of it, straight to the doctor. If not, I'll think about letting him go to school._

* * *

Dean listened as the Winchesters went about their nightly routines with only minimal bickering. A few minutes later, the hall light was shut off and all sounds in the house ceased.

 _Well, nothing's going to happen tonight, right? And if I hear something, I can always go through the window. I'll just get up before them and head out before they even know I'm gone._ Dean fiddled with his cell phone until he got the little alarm thing to work. It was set for five, just a half hour or so before John usually got up. _Plenty of time._ He put the phone in the pocket of his jeans so the vibrating ringer would wake him up for sure.

Dean pulled his green, softest-he'd-ever-had blanket up to his chin and tried to enjoy his last few hours of domestic paradise.

* * *

"Get up."

Dean groaned and forced his eyes open. There wasn't much to see besides total darkness, which was strange.

"I said get up."

Something heavy and hard slammed into Dean's left shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.

"You lazy ass piece of shit, if you don't get a move on I'm gonna lock the door tonight and you can sleep in the shed again."

Dean took the object thrown at him into his lap, finding the strap before shouldering it and opening his door. The air that night was frigid to say the least, impairing his sore joints and aching muscles as they shivered angrily to generate heat. No way was he going to stay in the shed that night. Not if he could help it.

A blinding light burned itself into Dean's retinas, making him see stars as his lids slammed down and his arm came up to cover his eyes.

"Move it!" Jerold hissed from the porch, where he already had the lights on and the door open. "You're letting the cold air in." Dean knew he would've shouted if the neighbors didn't live so close. Their house was only a few yards away; that was why Jerold insisted on coming home only after dark, when they couldn't see injuries or blood.

"Sorry." Dean muttered, jogging as quickly as possible to the house from the old truck after slamming the door shut. His thigh, already bruised from carrying the bag earlier, protested as the thing bumped again and again on that same spot. Hours of carrying the heavy gear bag had not been kind to Dean's body, but it wasn't the worst he'd ever felt. Not even close. He tried to focus on that.

"Get in there." Jerold grabbed Dean's coat- an old one of Jerold's that had a few too many holes for the older man to wear anymore- and pushed him through the door, nearly flooring him in the process. "Lucy, I'm home!"

"Welcome back, Jerry." Lucy called from upstairs, where she was probably reading in bed. "Kid with ya?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Good."

"I want those cleaned and ready by tomorrow morning, Ross." Jerold said, pointing a bony finger at the bag over Dean's shoulder. "No more slacking off."

Dean desperately wanted to remind Jerold that he had school tomorrow and it was already well after midnight. His cuts _alone_ would take him an hour to fix up before he could even start on the weapons. But Dean didn't say a word. He knew the consequences of bringing up his education and it wasn't worth it anymore to stand up for himself. So Dean simply nodded and used his automatic response, engrained in his very being after eight years, half of his whole _life_ , of living with the Ross'. "Yes, sir."

"And quit bleedin' all over the place, would ya? Don't stain the rugs again." Jerold grumbled as he made his way upstairs, probably to go to bed.

"Yes, sir." Dean watched Jerold disappear around the bend in the stairs and listened as his footsteps faded down the hall. He _hated_ scrubbing blood out of the rugs; it was a nightmare. Dean could feel the warmth oozing from his arm and streaming lazily down his pant leg; he held his arm close to his body so the blood would land on him and not the truck seats or the floors in the house.

He could feel the stinging pain that screamed from the edges of the werewolf's claw marks, too, but tried to ignore that.

Once he felt he had enough energy to make it to his room, he crept quietly over the wooden floors, skirting around the rug, and over the kitchen tile. With his good arm, he quietly and carefully opened the basement door- solid cherry wood, Lucy was very proud of it and she told him all the time not to get anything on it- and went downstairs.

The lightbulb clicked on at the pull of the string and illuminated his living space. Way at the end of the basement, Jerold had been kind enough to put up a few pieces of plywood to give Dean some privacy. It also served as a hiding place for when the police came asking about this or that. There were cardboard boxes and totes- mostly decoys, empty- stacked haphazardly against the plywood, hiding it from view. Dean trudged around a few boxes that weren't empty and tugged a bookcase away from the opening in the plywood. Inside the small, open space was his bed, an old but relatively nice twin mattress with a few scratchy, itchy, but warm blankets on top. His clothes were neatly folded and stacked on a cardboard box at the foot of the bed. His book bag leaned against the box, mostly empty and forgotten.

Dean set the weapons bag on his mattress and toed off his shoes in the corner. He kicked himself for having walked through the house without taking them off or at least wiping the mud away first, but he could clean that up when he was done with the weapons. And he could clean those as soon as he stopped his arm from bleeding.

He didn't even register the way the plywood floor, laid on top of the dirt floor of the basement, grabbed at his socks as he walked. Callouses had formed on his feet; it was an achievement Dean tried to accomplish every summer, early on. Calloused feet didn't ache as bad when you had to walk miles in shoes two sizes too big for you. Calloused feet didn't bleed as bad, or get hurt as often.

If only Dean could do the same to the rest of his skin. His left forearm had two gashes in it from deflecting the worst of an angry werewolf's claws. Jerold missed on the first shot, and so did Mason, his newest hunting buddy. Dean, who was supposed to lure the thing out into the open, was left with only a bowie knife to defend himself.

He slit the thing's throat and it didn't like that, taking a few powerful swings at him as it tried to growl. Mason made his next shot right where it counted and the thing, now mostly dead, fell onto Dean. Luckily, most of the blood missed his clothes and he got out from under it quickly enough to minimize the stains that he'd have to scrub out.

The jacket was toast, though. There was no way he could wear it to school with tears like that and stains to match it. He peeled it off and tossed it in the corner, where a small pile of ruined clothes had already accumulated.

"Not so bad." Dean said to himself as he inspected his wound. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches- which almost had Dean jumping for joy- and the bleed had already slowed considerably. Quietly, Dean made his way upstairs to the bathroom and washed the cuts out with soap and water. It stung worse than the initial wound, but that was the only way he knew to disinfect his cuts. That was the only way they wouldn't get infected.

Back downstairs, he wrapped a length of clean fabric, torn from one of his ruined shirts, around his arm as tightly as possible. The bleeding stopped shortly thereafter, but he hardly noticed.

He had an entire bag of weapons to clean.

After a good long while- Dean didn't know how long, he didn't have a watch or a clock downstairs- the weapons were spotless and ready for action. He took the bag upstairs and set it in the kitchen closet, where the bag was kept. The dirt from his boots was swept up and Dean checked the time before he went back downstairs. He set the little digital kitchen timer for a few hours, just enough so he could wake up and still make it to the bus stop _before_ the bus.

Dean made it to the bus, aching worse than he had in a long time. His ribs hurt from being mashed under the beast and he could barely move his arm. When he got to school, he went straight to the administrative office and told them he was moving. They gave him some paperwork for Jerold or Lucy to sign and send back, saying that he was enrolled in another school, or would be promptly, and where they were going to live.

Dean signed the papers at home that evening. The next day, he turned them in and walked out of the school forever. He wouldn't miss sophomore English class.

Jerold couldn't have cared less when he noticed Dean not going to school anymore, a few days after he dropped out. It just meant no more visits from the truant officer.

Lucy, however, was not as accepting. "How the hell am I supposed to have any peace around here when he's creeping around day and night?" She shouted at Jerold in the living room a few days later, with Dean standing in the doorway. Lucy knew he was there. She wanted him to hear.

"He'll stay in the basement, won't you, Ross?" Jerold glared at him, probably frustrated with having to deal with Dean's decisions again.

"Yes, sir."

"You better, you little shit, or there'll be more where this came from."

"Now Lucy, don't you go doin' that again-" Jerold started to speak, but it was in vain.

Lucy, who had been holding a mostly empty bottle of wine, whipped the thing at Dean. It connected with his head.

* * *

Dean sat ramrod straight in bed, sweating and shaking and hiccuping, his green blanket forgotten in his desperation to end the dream before the pain from the blow made it through.

"Gotta be now." Dean breathed, trying to catch his breath. Before the orders from his brain even made it to his consciousness, he was out of bed and quietly closing his bedroom door behind him. Nothing ran through his mind as he left the house, quietly closing the front door after locking it from the inside. He shoved his hand into his pocket and walked off into the night. This time, he didn't look back.

* * *

"Can Sammy have some?"

"Just one, okay? But you have to watch him. Don't let him put the whole thing in his mouth."

"Thanks, Daddy."

John watched the little blond boy carefully separate one slice from the rest of the orange and hold it out to the toddler. He laughed when Sammy reached for it but fell flat on the bed, grumbling in baby talk as he got on all fours to push himself back up. A drip of snot fell onto the bed from the baby's nose. Dean had gotten a virus not a week ago and now that he was over it, Sam had it. Fever, snot, crankiness; the whole shebang. At least the children's cold medicine John got seemed to help the tot sleep. He needed all the sleep he could get; those weird staring spells didn't happen as often if he slept through the night.

The father would never get over how smart his oldest was turning out to be. With Sammy, he'd have to wait a few years to really tell, but Dean was already the brightest in his class. His teachers told John at conference nights. John watched Dean put his legs on either side of the baby, holding him steady so he could enjoy the orange without falling over again. _Atta boy, Dean-o._

Sammy laughed and held onto Dean's leg while John just smiled and continued writing in his journal, keeping an eye on Sammy to make sure he didn't choke on the fruit.

A few minutes later, John's phone rang.

"John, I found 'em. They're holed up in that old house on Hobart Road. If we go now, we can get 'em while they're sleeping and be done with all this shit."

John sighed and looked to his boys, still eating the orange on the bed. "Jeff, I have no one to watch the boys. I can't leave them alone."

"Sure you can. It's getting late, they'll be tired. Just put 'em to sleep and come roll some heads and go back when we're done. Shouldn't take long. They'll be fine." Jefferson said, his voice confident.

Jefferson didn't have kids. "That's not how it works. Sammy's sick, Dean is hardly tall enough to get him out of his playpen. There are so many things that could happen while I'm gone. I can't lose my boys, Jeff. I won't put them in danger like that."

"You're saying there's _no one_ you can call to go sit with 'em for an hour?"

"Exactly."

"Not even some teenage babysitter?"

"Jeff, I'm not letting a teenager watch my kids. And even if I would, there aren't any available. The school's band concert is tonight and all my sitters are there with their kids."

" _All_ of 'em?"

"Yes."

"Look, John. This nest has been targeting college kids from the next town. Wouldn't you want your boys to be safe when they go to college?"

"They're not going to college, Jeff. I need them to help me find the thing that-"

"Killed Mary. I know, I've heard it all before. But those students are dying because of this nest and we can do something about it. John, just work with me here."

"I can't go. My boys take priority, Jeff. We'll just have to go tomorrow, when I have a sitter."

"They could be gone by tomorrow. I'm going tonight, whether you're comin' or not."

"That's a suicide mission, man. You can't take on a nest _alone_."

"Well, it's happening. I'll be a mile up the road from the house in about half an hour. If you're not there, I'll understand. Your boys are more important than hundreds of college kids and your own hunting partner, right?"

"Jeff, don't put me in this position." John pleaded. He couldn't let Jefferson go into the nest alone; he'd be dead by the end of the night for sure, probably tortured or sucked dry. And yeah, John cared that college kids were going missing and being found exsanguinated, but his _babies._ They were all he had left.

And there they were, Dean making funny faces with a slice of orange in his mouth and Sam throwing his head back, laughing.

"I can't put them in danger like that."

"Just put 'em to bed. You'll be back before they even wake up. If you really want, leave a gun with Dean so he feels safe."

"What the hell is he going to do with a gun, Jeff? The recoil will send him halfway across the room."

"He won't have to use it, John. One hour. That's all I'm asking."

"I can't-"

"See you there." Jefferson hung up.

" _Dammit_." John growled into the disconnected phone. He put it in his pocket and stood, torn about this situation. On one hand, leaving his sons alone in a motel room went against every grain of John's being. They really were all he had left and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to them while he was gone. On the other hand, Jefferson had a point. John could just give Sammy his next dose of medicine, which would put him out for the night, and settle him in the playpen. Dean would be fine in bed for an hour while John was gone; he'd be nervous, he always was when Daddy wasn't around, but he'd be fine. And they could take the nest by surprise, clearing it out easily so that none of those fangs could kill another student.

"Dammit." John sighed, running a hand through his hair. The meeting place Jefferson mentioned was about twenty minutes away. That didn't give John much time to get the boys in bed.

* * *

"But Daddy, I'm scared."

"I know, buddy. Just keep the blinds closed and the light off, okay? Stay in bed and try to sleep. Sammy should be okay for the night. He just had his cold medicine and that makes him sleepy, remember?"

"Yeah."

"I want you to call me if anything happens, okay? I wrote my phone number right by the phone, and it's on your necklace, too. Call 911 if I don't answer or something happens to Sammy, or Sammy starts to have trouble breathing. We're at the Andover Inn; you'll have to tell the 911 person where you are so they can help you, okay?"

"Okay. Where are you going, Daddy?"

"I need to go help my friend with a project. Shouldn't take more than an hour. I'll be back before you know it."

"But I know it now."

John smiled gently, trying to ease his little boy's nerves. "Try to sleep. I'll wake you up when I get back, okay? I left a gun under the bed; I don't want you to use it unless someone comes into the room. Got that?"

"Uh huh."

John lifted Dean up and hugged him tight, feeling little arms squeeze around his neck in return. He set Dean in the bed and tucked him in, making sure he had his favorite toy and a glass of water. "You're my brave little trooper, aren't you? You can handle anything."

Dean smiled just a little and pulled the blanket up higher. "Hurry back, Daddy."

John picked up his gear duffel and shouldered it, checking on his sleeping toddler one more time before opening the motel door and shutting off the light. "Watch out for Sammy."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Almost an hour later, John returned to the Andover Inn. All the lights were dark, as they should be. He took a moment to collect himself.

The raid had been somewhat successful. He and Jefferson succeeded in cutting down more than half the nest, probably fifteen in all. The leader, or at least that was what John thought it was, got away with four others. John was pretty sure he killed its mate. It looked pissed as it glanced back at him while sprinting off into the night.

They'd have to track those ones down now that they had their scent. Shouldn't be too hard, though. Jefferson managed to snag one of their cell phones; it was strange to think that vampires used cell phones. They could track the numbers in it, with some technological help, and get the job done. All in all, not a bad hunt.

John exited the Impala and riffled through his key ring for the motel's key. He found it and went to put it in the lock of the room he had rented.

The door was ajar, and leaning slightly away from its hinge. The doorjamb was busted in.

John leaned back to check the room number, written beside the door, and with a rush of panic, confirmed it was his room.

He drew his gun and slowly pushed the door open, adrenaline pulsing through him and blurring his thoughts into nonsense. With a flick of the switch, the room lit up, revealing scattered splinters of wood from the door frame littering the floor and a handful of chunky white letter and number beads. Nothing else seemed out of place.

Except the empty bed and playpen. And the fact that one of the boys' necklaces had to break for those beads to be all over the floor.

John could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Boys?" John called quietly, entering the room and pushing the door as far shut as it would go. He checked around the beds and in the bathroom first, for any intruders. Satisfied that no one was lurking in the room, he put the safety on his gun and tucked it away.

He could find whoever did this later. Right now, _he had to find his sons._

They weren't under the beds. They weren't in the beds. They weren't in the dresser drawers, although John had no idea how they could get in there and close it. They weren't in the shabby old wardrobe that sat empty against one wall. They weren't in the bathroom cupboards or under the table.

John's boys were gone.

"Dean? Sammy?" He called to the empty room, hoping he had just missed a place and they were still safe.

There was no response.

John rushed out of the room and looked down the sidewalk, first to the left, then the right. This motel was just off the highway, but tucked into the forest. Trees surrounded it on three sides for at least a half mile in each direction.

John looked for exactly half an hour before calling the police.

He went back into the room to wait for them to come, trying to catch his breath and stop shaking. _They're gone. They're gone._ He paced the length of the room several times before the dull, brown painted knob jumped out at him. The whole room was paneled; some idiot had painted the once shiny doorknob to match.

 _Closet_. John remembered, rushing forward and ripping the door open, only to find his clothing duffel and the boys' right where he left them. It felt like his heart dropped out of his body and crashed to the floor. They really were gone.

John jumped hard when the sneeze broke the silent, numb air of the room.

"Sammy?" He practically yelled, whipping around to face the open closet. Dropping to his knees, he pushed the duffels away from the walls gently, barely moving them, thinking Sam somehow got in the closet and hid himself.

The baby was on his back, right between the two duffels and hidden by their folds. His cheeks were rosy red, snot leaked down his face, and his eyes were closed. Sammy was sleeping just as peacefully as he had been when John left him in the playpen. John swept him up and held him close, feeling Sam's beads still snapped in the bottom of his onesie. He didn't even wake up. He just grabbed onto John's collar with one hand and sneezed again.

Sammy was fine.

But… where was Dean?

" _Dean_? _DEAN_?!"

* * *

The sound of a door closing had John's eyes sliding open to scan the room, the rest of him remaining motionless until he knew there was no threat in the vicinity.

With the room cleared, he got out of bed, trying to stop the shaking and sweating that lingered from the familiar nightmare, and checked on Sam. It was late, just past one in the morning. He shouldn't be up this late-

Sam was fast asleep, breathing easy and looking adorably peaceful in the top bunk.

 _Dean._ John left the bedroom and stood in the hall just in front of Dean's door. _He's fine. I found him, he's fine, he's asleep and I'm just hearing things._ The light was off, and the bathroom light was off, too. He couldn't even hear the toilet tank filling. _Maybe he just used the bathroom and went back to bed. That's probably what I heard._ Even so, John listened hard for a few seconds and when he heard nothing- no snoring, no breathing, no shuffling- he slowly, silently opened Dean's door.

Dean wasn't there.

His back pack was.

His wallet was.

His inhaler was.

His coat was.

With a terrifying sinking feeling, John picked up his coat and looked through the pockets.

His beads weren't there. Neither was his phone.

John glanced into the bathroom on his way out of Dean's bedroom- it was empty- and searched the rest of the house before coming to a halt in the living room, his hands folded on top of his head as he tried to reign in his panic. _He left._

 _Dean left. This can't be happening. Why didn't I see it coming? He was acting funny yesterday, I should've- maybe he's still nearby. Maybe I can change his mind. I can't lose him again!_

John scribbled out a quick note to Sam, leaving it on the kitchen counter near the door, telling him what happened and where John had gone.

He was in the Impala and a few miles down the road before he realized he'd left his phone at home.

He didn't turn around.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so mean to my characters. But oh, the plot is so rich... Leave me a review and let me know how you liked or disliked this chapter. What surprised you?**


	26. Invisible Sun

**A/N: Vivi here! Y'all are lucky I had one night off this week and one burst of motivation to write. I've had writer's block so bad lately. (That's why Enter the World is like two weeks behind now.) Hopefully that goes away soon. You know what would help? Lots of reviews... *wink wink***

 **Warnings for language, violence. All previous warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

Dean left. This can't be happening. Why didn't I see it coming? He was acting funny yesterday, I should've- maybe he's still nearby. Maybe I can change his mind. I can't lose him again!

 _John scribbled out a quick note to Sam, leaving it on the kitchen counter near the door, telling him what happened and where John had gone._

 _He was in the Impala and a few miles down the road before he realized he'd left his phone at home._

 _He didn't turn around._

* * *

John searched for nearly four hours. He had no idea how Dean, in the shape he was, could get away that quickly and disappear like he had. The Impala went all over town, starting with the nearby streets, then fanning out, moving toward the city center where he expected Dean would try to go.

As a last ditch effort, John went back to the house and immediately tried to call Dean's phone. It was either disconnected or dead.

" _Dammit._ " John set his phone back on the counter and closed his eyes, which were starting to get that annoying stinging sensation. He didn't know if it was lack of sleep or emotion, but it was annoying all the same.

At least Sam was still fast asleep when John checked on him again.

"Maybe I can have the police help me look. He's in no condition to be out on his own; he'll understand when I explain it to him. He can't stay angry at me for dragging him back. Not when he has life threatening injuries and isn't thinking straight." John picked up his phone.

Then he froze.

On the little screen was a flashing symbol telling him he had two voicemails. He hadn't seen that earlier. One was from Dean's phone. The other was a number he didn't recognize.

There was no hesitation in John's mind as he pressed the phone to his ear.

It wasn't Dean's voice that came through, though.

"This is Officer Morton, I'm with the Temple PD. We picked up a young man a few minutes ago. This number was listed as 'Dad' in a phone we found in his pocket. We're going to need you to come down to the station and answer a few questions for us. Come as soon as you can."

The friendly computerized voice told him that the voicemail was from nearly three and a half hours ago, just a few minutes after John realized he left his phone at home. He kicked himself for his mistake.

The second voicemail was just as disheartening.

"Mr. Winchester, this is Officer Morton. I called this number earlier from your son's phone. I'm going to need you to come down to the station within the next three hours or we'll have to call CPS and transfer your son to a facility better equipped to handle juveniles. This is your last warning."

That was from an hour ago.

John was back in the car within ten seconds.

He arrived at the police station fifteen minutes later.

 _They probably think I'm a terrible parent._ John tried to push his guilt aside as he walked through the doors.

At the front desk was an officer, looking bored as he stared at a computer screen. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here for my son. Officer Morton called me."

"Name?"

"John Winchester." _I'm pretty sure I don't have any warrants out anymore._

The man reached around the computer screen and picked up a clipboard, checking through a few sheets of papers before looking back to the screen. "He called you three and a half hours ago, and then one hour ago, correct?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

"Officer Morton to the front desk. Morton to the desk." The officer before him spoke into the phone and his voice was projected through a speaker system that was presumably throughout the whole building. "Take a seat." John was directed to a small grouping of chairs lined up against one wall.

Police stations always made John feel nervous and guilty. At first, it was because he visited every police station in every town he and Sammy went to, putting out a missing child report for Dean. He never stopped doing that, no matter what his status with the law was. There was even a report out in Orem for his missing son, filed before they found Dean. Sam never knew. John never told him.

As time went on, the nerves came more from having brushes with the law, warrants out for his arrest, the risk of having Sam taken from him. He still filed a missing person's report for Dean everywhere they went, but he had to be Dean's 'uncle' sometimes.

Now, the nausea and rushing thoughts were from all the things he imagined could have happened to his son. The officer never said he was okay. Maybe the gang found him. Maybe he was mugged. Maybe he was hit by a car, or had an asthma attack. He had left his inhaler at home- the spare was in John's coat pocket, where it lived ever since Dean got his new one. Maybe Dean tried to mug someone else. But that wouldn't be like him. He could have gotten into a bar and been found to be less than twenty one; in his condition, John didn't doubt that some goodhearted bartender would call the police to get the kid out of danger. And out of his or her way. Maybe Dean called John himself before he was picked up. Maybe he just went for a walk and got lost and John didn't have his phone to answer. Maybe Dean called the police to get help and now here John was, practically _four hours later_ finally arriving to take his kid home.

Or maybe Dean wasn't even conscious.

He hadn't been the one to leave the voicemail, after all. An officer called from his cell phone. Usually the officer would have given him a chance to call himself, to explain what happened and ask for help personally.

But Dean wasn't the one who called.

Either he didn't want to talk to John, or he couldn't.

"Winchester?"

John looked up to see a police officer in full gear, looking directly at him from a door just behind the front desk. Quickly, John stood and went to the man, who was shorter than he and holding a clipboard. "Is my son alright?"

"Follow me."

* * *

Nobody told John if Dean was okay. Officer Morton just drilled him with questions, all of which he could answer truthfully because Dean _was_ his son and there was nothing fake about that. He was asked about Dean's relationship with his family, if he was provided for, if he was going to school, how he acted around family and strangers, on and on about Dean's life and behavior. John seemed to appease the man after about half an hour of questioning.

"Are you aware that there are missing child reports out for your son, Mr. Winchester?" Officer Morton asked, turning the computer screen so that John could see it from the other side of the officer's desk. There he saw dozens of entries, all with the same information, most with the same picture of little, five year old Dean. When Dean would have been ten, John got his five-year-old photo age adjusted, so he had an idea of what the kid could look like now. He did the same thing again when Dean would've been fifteen. The artist's rendition was close, but not close enough, apparently.

"Yes. I was the one who filed those." John pointed to the little box on the screen next to one of the entries that read his name as the person making the report. "You can fingerprint me if you don't believe me."

"Are you aware that these reports go back to when your son was five years old and continue on until _two weeks ago_?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?" The officer looked suspicious. He had every right to be.

John told him the truth. He had to force the words out; it was the first time he was telling anyone outside his hunting network the whole story. "He was kidnapped when he was five. We were on vacation." Well, he was _mostly_ telling the truth. It had to be convincing, after all. "I left he and his year and a half old brother in our motel room for a few minutes to get some ice. My youngest was sick, he had a virus and a fever, poor kid was miserable." That last bit was true. Sammy always got viruses at least twice a year, ever since John could remember. He'd actually drugged Sam to sleep the night he went out and lost Dean. Sammy was still asleep when John found him in the closet. "When I got back, the door was kicked in and Dean was gone. Security footage that the police found later that day showed three people kick down the door and-"

 _Dean? DEAN?!_

John swallowed hard. "And carry him out, toss him in a car. Didn't get the license plate, it was too far away." He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. _They weren't people. They were the vampires_ I _didn't kill. The ones that got away from that nest._ After a few moments, he looked the officer in the eye. "Is my son okay? He's here, right? He didn't have to go to the hospital?"

"Why would he need the hospital?"

"He- he was in a car accident a few days ago. Messed up his head and beat him to hell. He's got a nasty concussion, been makin' him act weird the past few days. His arm is in a sling; it was dislocated." John said, wondering how the officer wouldn't have noticed that. "He's here, right?"

"Why is there a report for your son two weeks ago, John?" Officer Morton dodged John's question, wanting to get all his information before he reunited the pair.

"Because I only just found him." John was getting angry. Who the hell did this guy think he was, keeping John from his son? From the kid he'd been trying to find for twelve years?

"And you didn't report that?"

John rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "He had pneumonia. He'd been living in Orem, _homeless_ , and he was on death's door when I found him and took him to the hospital. Reporting him found never even crossed my mind."

"I'll fill that in, then."

John's eyes narrowed. "How did you know who my son was? He left his wallet at home." _And he doesn't know his real last name. Did he actually use Winchester voluntarily?_

The officer sighed heavily and looked back to John with only a hint of irritation in his expression. "When he wouldn't identify himself, we fingerprinted him. He hasn't said a word since we picked him up. Just sits there, stiff as a board." Morton looked back to his computer screen.

"Did you tell him his prints got a match?" John asked nervously. If they had, then the cat was out of the bag. Dean would know he really was John's son, and he would be pissed that John hadn't told him. That could be why he was refusing to talk to anyone.

"No. I see that his mother is deceased?"

John, relieved but strangely disappointed at the whole fingerprint ID situation, silently thanked his wife that she made the whole family go and get their prints registered a few months after Sam was born. Had Dean ever been successfully fingerprinted in the years after his kidnapping, the authorities would have located John and the pair would be reunited. Too bad Dean usually avoided the law or wormed his way out before his prints could be taken. _If he doesn't know, then why is he being so quiet?_ "Yes, she passed away in a house fire shortly after my youngest was born."

"Sorry for your loss." The officer seemed sincere, even though he didn't look up from his screen. After a few tense moments, he picked up his clipboard once more. "Well, everything checks out."

"Is he okay?" John asked, trying to sound both compliant and forceful at the same time. No one told him what had happened. He _needed_ to know.

"Follow me."

"Uh, can I get a copy of those print results? The ones you identified him with?"

"Yes. Follow me."

John stood and followed the officer back the way they came for a short ways before ducking down another long hall and entering locked door that the officer had a key to.

Behind the door was another hallway, but this one was lined with bars. The officer led John past about six cells on either side of them, some holding frustrated looking men or women, and some empty. Then he stopped at the end of the hall and nodded to the cell on the left.

"Dean?" John stood close to the bars after he realized that the figure seated in the corner, on a hard looking bed, was his son. He didn't look any worse for wear, but he wasn't moving either. John wouldn't know if he was actually okay until he walked.

Dean looked up with wide, fearful eyes at John's voice. He made no other action, said nothing. _How did John…? Maybe he woke up and saw that I was gone and… and called the police? That doesn't sound like something he'd do. That doesn't make sense... Oh, they took my phone. The cops probably called_ him _._

 _He probably doesn't even want to be here. He knows I ran. I left the house. Why did he come for me?_ That familiar warm feeling filled Dean's chest again at the look of concern- and lack of anger- on John's face, but with it came a gnawing shame. He had some kind of punishment coming. He just knew it. There was no way he couldn't. Slowly, it dawned on him why John had come. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. _He's holding me for Lucy. She's probably on her way right now._

Officer Morton flipped through his keyring until he found the right one. He opened the sliding door of Dean's cell and stepped aside. "Dad's here to bust you out, kid. C'mon."

Slowly, Dean stood.

And John was furious.

"Where's his sling? And why the hell does he have a limp?"

The officer flinched slightly at John's outburst, but held up a placating hand as Dean trudged out of the cell, holding his arm, and stood next to John, eyes down. Dean hoped if he kept his eyes down and was as unthreatening as possible that his punishment would be less severe; maybe he would even have another chance to run before Lucy came. Acting submissive usually boded well for Dean if Jerold was involved. He didn't leave marks if Dean wasn't protesting. Not Lucy, though. To her, it didn't matter if Dean was stone-still, silent, writhing in pain, pleading, or unconscious. The woman was merciless. Dean still had nightmares.

"No personal possessions in the cells, Mr. Winchester. He'll get everything back when you sign out."

"His arm was dislocated. How long was he in there without the sling? You could've done irreparable damage to my son's shoulder."

 _He's still calling me his son? That's gotta be a good sign, right? Fathers don't hit their sons… right?_

"Calm down, sir."

"Why is he limping?" John growled, looking his son up and down one more time. Dean was trying to look small, avoiding eye contact, and holding his bad arm with his good arm; none of those things were reassuring in the least. He had an abrasion on his forehead and cheek and some dirt caked into the front of his clothes, worse at his knees. _If they tackled him, we're going to have a problem._

"My fault." Dean said quietly, not looking up.

" _Why is he limping?"_

"Your son ran from us when we told him to stop." Officer Morton said as he closed the cell door. "He didn't give us a choice."

John turned to Dean and put a hand on his good shoulder, trying to get him to look up. He wouldn't; he just turned his head away from the hand and closed his eyes, head hung low. Like he thought he was going to be struck.

He hiccupped.

John felt sick.

"What did they do to you?" John asked as gently as he could manage. If Dean was hiccupping, something bad had happened. "Hey, hey. I'm here now, you don't have to be scared."

"Taser. Caught his leg, he fell in the grass beside the sidewalk. He'll be sore for a while but there aren't any lasting effects. Just be glad it wasn't mace." Officer Morton said as he shrugged past them on the way out. "Follow me."

"You _tased my son_? Did you not see the sling? Did you not see the black eye?" John knew the police had every right to stop someone who ran from them by whatever means necessary, if they thought it worth the effort. But he was still pissed. Dean was already sore enough. He didn't need that. No matter what he had done.

"No. We didn't. He ran _away_ from us, Mr. Winchester." The officer walked kept going, motioning for them to come.

Father and son followed the officer back to the room where John was interviewed. Officer Morton sat behind his cluttered desk and set about filling in some paperwork while John gently pushed Dean down into a chair before taking the last seat beside him. Poor kid was shaking and _still_ hiccupping. "We'll get you some medicine and ice for your shoulder, okay? When we get home." John said quietly, trying to ease his baby's nerves.

It didn't work. Dean didn't respond in any way. Not externally, at least. _You put on a good show, John. I'm sure the cop believes every word you say. Too bad I know you're working with Lucy. Too bad I let myself believe you cared about my wellbeing._

John frowned at the apathetic look on his son's face. Part of him was angry that Dean went out in the first place- he still didn't know why- and part of him was angry with the officers for hurting his son. Part of him was overjoyed that they found Dean, and part of him was glad that Dean wasn't hurt any worse. Part of him worried about why Dean was shaking and hiccupping this long after being tased, and part of him was worried about Sam waking up and finding himself alone in the house.

All of him just wanted to leave the police station with his boy intact.

"You gonna run from the police again, Dean?" Officer Morton asked as he straightened his papers and looked them over one more time.

"No, sir." Dean's voice was uncharacteristically small.

"Gonna go for walks alone at night anymore?"

"No, sir."

"Gonna listen to your Dad and stick to the straight and narrow?"

"Yes, sir." The response was barely a whisper, accompanied by a hard swallow and a guilty look to the floor.

"Pops, you gonna have speaks about this with your son?" Officer Morton looked up and set the forms on the desk between them with a pen on top.

"You better believe it."

The officer reached behind him to an old looking printer and retrieved a few sheets of paper, which he held out to John. "Before I forget, here are those print res-"

"Thank you." John said loudly and quickly, taking the papers and folding them so the words couldn't be seen. Dean didn't need to know about the print match just yet. They were only to be put to use if Dean didn't believe him when John decided to tell the kid about his father. His real father.

Morton frowned at John for a few seconds before he collected a small stack of forms from his desk and straightened them. The stack was placed in front of both Winchesters. "Sign here, Mr. Winchester, and you two are good to go. Front desk will give you your stuff back, kid."

"Just like that?" John asked, suspicious as to why they were being let off so easily. What had Dean done?

"Yeah. My partner and I just figured we scared the kid. That's why he ran. We were asking if he wanted a ride home. Kinda late at night to be walking around town alone."

 _He didn't do a thing. He was just trying to leave and the cops got in the way._ "Thank you, officer." John meant it with every fiber of his being.

"I'm glad you found your son, Mr. Winchester." Officer Morton smiled and stood, going to the door and opening it. "Twelve years is a long time to wait."

* * *

 **A/N: Don't forget to leave me a review! See you next week (hopefully)!**


	27. Let Me Be There

**A/N: Vivi here! It's a surprise-late-night-mid-week post! I've written ahead a bit once again, so I thought I'd give us all a treat.**

 **Don't forget to Follow and Favorite so you can stay up to date and don't miss these little surprise mid-week gems...**

 **Previous warnings apply.**

 **Leave me a review; I want to know what you think. What are your predictions? What did you like? What did you hate? It all helps me improve as a writer, and it kinda makes my day, too.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"I'm glad you found your son, Mr. Winchester." Officer Morton smiled and stood, going to the door and opening it. "Twelve years is a long time to wait."_

* * *

"Thanks." John blushed, hoping Dean didn't make the connection. He helped his son stand after seeing that he was having some trouble with the low set chair and steadied him as they passed the officer.

' _Found your son'? Twelve years?_ _What the hell's going on?_

"Straight down this hall, front desk is on the left."

The Winchesters retrieved Dean's things in silence. Neither one was ready to talk about what had happened just yet. John put the sling on his son and made sure the kid had his beads before they left the lobby and went out into the cold night.

As soon as they got to the car in the dark parking lot, John pulled the unsuspecting, slightly shivering kid into a bear hug. It wasn't to comfort Dean; John knew how to do that now, and physical touch wouldn't help his son calm down in the least. This time, the hug was for John. _I can't lose you again. How can I make you understand?_

Dean was caught off guard; he flinched when John grabbed his good shoulder. In an instant, his whole body was tensed, adrenaline charging through his blood. He was expecting a hit to the jaw, or the gut, or a knee to the groin. Some harsh words. What he got was a surprisingly gentle embrace. The man wrapped his arms around Dean and somehow put absolutely no pressure on his bad shoulder, caused him no pain whatsoever.

After the initial shock and adrenaline spike wore off, Dean felt his eyes start to prick. _Why can't you just hit me or cuss me out? Why do you have to do_ this _? This is worse than a beating; it's cruel and unusual psychological punishment. This shit's illegal._ He didn't authorize his head to fall against John's shoulder. He also didn't authorize all the tension to drain out of his body in one heaving sigh. _How can you be the first one to Stockholm Syndrome me?_

He couldn't figure out how someone like John, who had given him more than anyone else in his entire life, could be working with someone like Lucy, who used to lock Dean outside at night for fun. He couldn't wrap his brain around it. But he knew it was true. Well… he was pretty sure. Really pretty sure.

"I'm not mad." John said quietly, holding on for just a few more seconds to remind himself that yes, Dean was still there and yes, he was in one piece. When he released Dean, he held him at arm's length with his right hand so the kid couldn't turn away. "I want you to tell me something, Dean."

Finally, John got to see those misty, dinosaur green eyes.

"Why did you leave without your coat?"

* * *

"Talk to me, Dean." John practically pleaded, getting impatient as he glanced to the passenger seat. Dean was leaning against his door, staring out the window. At least he wasn't shivering anymore. All the air vents in the Impala were pointed at him as soon as the engine roared to life. "Why did you try to leave without telling us? You know you're in no condition to be out on your own, especially in this weather. You've still got like a week's worth of antibiotics and at least a good four weeks until you can ditch the sling. I hate to say it, but you're about as defenseless as they come."

"Is that why you're giving me back to Lucy?" Dean asked quietly, sadly, not turning to meet John's gaze. He couldn't. There was no way Dean, who had grown to trust the man next to him, could face the cold hard facts in that moment. He was exhausted and in pain and emotionally spent. And John had decided that Dean wasn't a good enough grunt. He wasn't worth the investment. So he was returning him like a defective vacuum cleaner.

That realization stung right where the warm feeling usually came.

And Dean didn't know if he could handle seeing that decision reflected in John's eyes without breaking down and bawling like a child. _Oh boo hoo, not-Daddy hurt little Dean's feelings. Suck it up. He's not the first to betray you and he won't be the last. It's just a fact of life._

"I wouldn't _give_ you to anyone, Dean."

Dean looked up in surprise, all apprehension lost, and saw confusion on John's face.

"Why would you think that?"

It was a good long moment before Dean could organize his thoughts and speak. When he did, he almost rolled his eyes in bitterness. "Is it because I'm a human and no one can own a human?" _Try to sound all high and mighty now, Winchester. Now that I've found you out and you know that I know you're sending me back to hell because I'm not good enough for you._

"It's because you're a part of our family and I want you right where you are. And I'd fight anyone who tries to take you away from us. That's a classic lung removal situation, remember? The only way you're going to get away from me and Sammy is if you tell us you want to go, let us pack you up for the road, and check in every once in a while over the phone."

Nothing could get through Dean's mind as he looked back to John. There was just silence in there. A void.

Dean's eyes were wide with what looked like disbelief and shock. His jaw was even open a little. "You okay, kiddo? Tryin' to catch flies?" John grinned when Dean blushed and shut his mouth, looking away to try and hide the color filling his cheeks.

"You… So you're not going to give me back to Lucy?" Dean almost couldn't believe his ears. _He could be lying. He could be lying so I stay without a fuss until Lucy comes._

"Why would you ever think I would send you back to that bitch? I'd move us to a new town every week if I had to, just to keep you away from her." _She will never hurt you again. I won't allow it._

"R-really? You- I, uh, I heard you talking on the phone. You were talking about me. And Lucy." Dean stammered, not sure how to voice his confusion in a way that made sense to anyone besides himself. "I thought…"

"You heard that?" John glanced to Dean, who simply nodded. A few dots connected in John's head and he realized what had happened. "Oh, right. Sam said you went to your room when I took the call. And here I thought I was going far enough from you two that you couldn't hear me."

"Why didn't you want us to hear?" Dean asked quietly. His curiosity that night was growing to rival Sam's; it was driving him crazy that he couldn't figure out what exactly was going on. John's words didn't make sense. And his normally rock-solid mental filter was starting to leak, making it harder to keep the questions in. That was probably because he was exhausted and aching and wired. Honestly, he couldn't wait to go to sleep in John's house, no matter what the man told him next. "What's going on?"

John sighed. He had really hoped to keep his conversations with Bobby private. They were incriminating and he felt guilty enough having to pretend like Dean wasn't around when they spoke. Because he was over the moon that his little trooper was back, even if Bobby would go to the ends of the earth to try and prove that he wasn't. Bobby saw how much of a toll searching for Dean took on John, and after the first few years, he apparently decided the effort was in vain. The man had, on several occasions, provided 'proof' that John's son was dead, just so the father would stop searching. One was an obituary for a young boy named Dean, who was hit by a car. He was an orphan, about the age John's son would have been at the time. Another was a clip of security footage from a motel somewhere in California. It showed a man who looked a lot like one of the fangs who took Dean carrying a body shaped blanket over his shoulder and into the room. The blanketed form never came out. Neither did anyone but the man.

Needless to say, keeping his boys and Bobby separated was essential. John just hoped Dean would understand the other reason he wanted to keep it hush-hush.

"A good friend of mine helped me identify you back in Orem. He called around, found out you lived with the Ross'. Lucy called him when she heard about it through the hunting network. She says she wants you back." John took a deep breath and sighed again, trying to ignore the buildup of anger bordering on rage that he felt every time he thought about the woman who hurt his son. "He actually called me on the drive from Orem to tell me that she contacted him. You and Sammy were asleep in the back seat. I didn't want to tell you because… well, because _I_ didn't want you to feel obligated to go back to the woman who abused you. I didn't want you to leave us and go back to that life. So when he called today, I knew he wouldn't have good news about her and I _knew_ I didn't want you to know about it. Apparently she's been calling him day and night trying to get my phone number so she can talk to me about finding you. My friend doesn't know you're staying with us. He thinks you're still in Orem and I'd like to keep it that way. For now. But after our little conversation, my friend said he was going to give Lucy my phone number to get her off his back. Dean, I'm not going to tell her where we are, and I'm not going to tell her that you're with us. I'll say I don't know where you are; I lost you at the trailhead."

"So I _was_ the kid you lost."

 _How did you…? Oh, lost in the woods. Not… back then._ "Yeah." _On both accounts._

"And… and you're sure you're not going to turn me over to Lucy? You're not going to tell her where I am?" Dean's voice was timid and unsure. He still didn't fully believe John. The man was definitely hiding more than just the fact that Lucy wanted Dean. But Dean was pretty sure John wasn't lying about the conversations. He heard the last one, after all, and remembered a lot of it. Everything John said made sense in that context.

"No, and I'll stop her if she shows up. Dean, if I had known that phone call would get you this worked up, I'd have put that thing through the garbage disposal. Still might, come to think of it." _Bobby will just get the new number and pass it on, though. It'd just piss him off more._

"You're protecting me from Lucy? But she's not a monster. She's just a mean housewife from Washington."

John shook his head. "Sometimes humans are the worst monsters, son. I… I have an idea of what you went through to get away from her. Now, I don't agree with what you did, but I'm glad you got away. I won't take this situation lightly, not when your health and wellbeing is on the line. You will _never_ have to go that far for _anything_ ever again." _If she's a 'monster', does that mean she doesn't fall under the 'don't kill humans' rule?_

 _If only. Just wishful thinking… damn._

Dean's eyes widened just a fraction of an inch at John's words. _He… how could he know what happened? There's no way. I doubt Lucy would have brought it up… Maybe he just means running away and not… that. I sure hope he doesn't know about that. There would be no way I could live it down. No way he'd still want me around. No way he'd still call me… call me son all the time._

 _Why does he do that, anyway? I bet he doesn't even realize he's doing it, doesn't know what it means to me. Am I really as safe as Sammy- as his own son- with Dad? That's gotta just be my imagination, right? I mean, John would tear the world apart for that kid; why should I think he'd do anything like that for me?_

 _Then again… why shouldn't I? He did save me from… oh, wow. A wendigo, lethal blood loss, starvation, hypothermia, pneumonia, dying because of my stupid concussed brain, ruining my arm, the cops, my own dumb self… and Lucy._ Dean felt his face get hot, but this time it wasn't embarrassment. _He dragged me out of the woods. He looked for me, in the rain, er snow, until he found me. He took me to the hospital and stayed with me the whole time. He put my health before hunting, before almost everything; he even moved us south so I wouldn't get sick again. He enrolled us in a real school so I had a better chance to catch up. He got me clothes and gives me food and lets me stay in his house… which he has to work a real actual job to have. He lets me be around his son, acts like it's nothing. He treats us the same… makes sure we eat and take our meds and sleep and feel safe and thrive. And now he's keeping Lucy away from me and he didn't even want me to know._

 _Why did I ever think about leaving? Dad and Sammy are the best things that ever happened to me. No one would ever voluntarily give this kind of stuff up._

A morbid thought occurred to Dean as he remembered the last few seconds of the phone call. "Can I ask you a question?" His voice was barely a murmur when it broke the dull rumble of the Impala a few minutes later. What he was about to ask… Dean wasn't sure John would even respond. What if it crossed lines? What if it stepped on toes? What if he got mad and just pulled over right there, kicked Dean out? He was so nervous about it- why would he jeopardize his life with the Winchesters over this? But he had to know. What Dad's friend said, and the officer… he had to know.

"You know you can." John said without looking away from the road. They were getting close to home and he was anxious to see his littlest, make sure he was okay. Hopefully he was still asleep and none the wiser to the events of the night.

"How did you lose your other son?"

John's whole being was suddenly on high alert. It was worse than the first time Sammy asked where babies came from. It was worse than when Mike Guenther, his old business partner, lost the payroll paperwork for the past month. It was worse than when Ellen told him Sammy toddled away while she wasn't looking and was hiding somewhere and no one could find him _and_ the front door was ajar with a busy road not twenty feet beyond it.

All he could do was focus on driving- he had swerved a bit before the initial shock wore off- and try not to panic. _I'm not ready. He might be but I sure as hell ain't._ John cleared his throat, trying to buy some time.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me. I mean, I get it. The past hurts sometimes." Dean focused on trying not to bite his fingernails; he _really_ wanted to- he was so stressed out- but the sight made Sammy cringe and he didn't like that. And if he was going to stay with Sammy and Dad for… hopefully _ever_ , he shouldn't make them have to live with his nasty fingernails.

 _He'll never believe me when I actually tell him._ "You heard what my friend said, didn't you?" John hated that Bobby reminded him of his failures so often. It seemed like at least every three times he called the man, he had some painful words shoved into his brain.

 _'I_ never _hurt my children. They_ never _went without food or medical care or protection.'_

 _'But they did, John. That's why you only have_ one _son now, remember?'_

 _How could I forget?_

"Yeah."

John sighed once more. _He needs to know. Even if I can't tell him the happy ending yet._ "You can't tell Sammy. Not yet. He doesn't know he had a brother. Can you do that?"

"Why doesn't he know?"

"He was just a baby when it happened. When we… lost him. I didn't want him to grow up wishing he knew his brother and wondering what happened to him."

"Oh."

"You won't tell him, right?"

"I guess not." Dean didn't really like having to keep one of his father's own secrets from Sam. It felt… wrong.

 _Let's see if you put the puzzle together before I'm ready to tell you outright. You're brilliant and I know you can. You just have to adjust a few of your dates._ "My oldest son was four when our house burned. He got the baby out- baby Sammy, just six months old- but their mother passed away that day. That's what got me started in hunting."

"Sam was that young when you got into it?"

"I didn't start actively hunting for a few more months but, yeah, he was just a floppy little ball of sunshine then." John grinned at the memories of baby Sam smiling up at him, all the joy of the world reflected in his eyes. "We lived in motels, sometimes with friends, at their houses. The hunter community was pretty close-knit then, at least around the Midwest; they trained me up and helped me watch the boys. Babysat when I went on cases."

"I don't know any hunters with little kids." Dean said quietly, trying to process how kids that young could be so close to all that danger.

"That's a good thing, Dean. Trust me. I only knew one other family with a kid as young as my oldest. They were the ones who introduced me to this vampire hunter. I was helping him out on a case in a small town next to a city with a big college. They were draining students." John paused to just breathe for a few seconds. It still hurt to remember, even though Dean was right there in the next seat. "It was late; vampires would usually be waking up soon. The guy called me, told me he'd found the fangs and that he and I had to go at that very moment so we could wipe out the nest and save the college kids that they were targeting. I- I had no one to watch my sons. It was such short notice and… and I just put them to bed. Thought I wouldn't be gone long enough for them to get into any trouble."

"You left them in a motel room?" Dean asked, watching John's face slowly shift from forced calm to barely masked guilt and shame.

"I left them alone in a motel room."

"That… uh…" Dean looked away and coughed a few times before he had the nerve to continue. It was hard to share these kinds of things, but if John was making an effort, Dean could, too. "That's how I lost _my_ family."

 _I know. I'm so sorry, son. I ruined your life with one bad decision; all of this is my fault._ "I'm sorry, kiddo." He reached over and rested his hand on Dean's good shoulder for a few seconds, giving it a comforting squeeze before letting go. "I'm sure your father never meant to put you in harm's way."

"I know he didn't." Dean sniffed his nose; he hadn't realized his eyes were leaking a little. _Must be dust in the car…_

 _Kid, you don't know how much that means._ "I met my partner and we took out all but five vampires from that nest. They ran pretty early on in the attack, but I didn't think much of it. I went straight back to my boys and-" _Deep breaths. He's right there. He's okay._ "And Sam was in the closet, but my oldest was gone. He saved his baby brother, hid him before they broke the door down. Found out later that day who the kidnappers were."

"The vampires who ran from you." Dean spoke before he realized he had a thought. _That's just like what happened to me. I- I hid the baby, vampires took me…_ Slowly, Dean's dumbstruck gaze fixed on John. _What if he really_ is _my Dad? And he just doesn't know I'm his kid?_

"I've been tracking them ever since. Killed all except two, but none of 'em would rat on the leader or tell me if they still had y- my son. I put out a missing child report in every town I went to. Hid it all from Sam." The hairs on John's arms stood up as he realized his mistake, correcting it just in time. He hoped Dean didn't notice. He wasn't ready for _that_ conversation yet.

"That was twelve years ago?"

"Yes."

"Can I ask a… a dumb question?"

"All types of questions are welcome, kiddo."

"Why did the police officer say you found your son, and that twelve years was a long time to wait? If he thought I was your son, then it would've only been a couple hours that I was missing. Right?"

"I never reported my son found. All the reports I filed, all over the country, are in the computer systems now. He saw them."

"So they really think I'm your son?" Dean asked nervously. He didn't want to make John think that he was trying to replace… John's oldest son. _What was his name? Did he say?_

"Yes."

"One more question."

"Shoot."

"What was your son's name?"

John pulled into the driveway of the little rental house, pleased to see that all the lights were off and the door was _intact_. He shut the engine off and debated whether or not he should tell his son his own name. _Maybe I'll let him connect the dots on his own time. Let him tell me what he thinks when he's ready. He's smart; shouldn't take long. Not after this. I'll have to catch Sam before he blows up on me, though. Hopefully he takes at least until morning. I… I can't have that conversation tonight._ John took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

He turned to his son and spoke the two words that hadn't left his lips together in nearly twelve years. "Dean Winchester."

* * *

It was a long time before Dean could speak again. The shock of sharing the same first name as John's missing child had him dumbstruck. No wonder John kept calling him son. _But what if… what if I really_ am _his son? I need to do some research. See those reports for myself. See if there are any records of John online and find out who he really is. The timing isn't perfect- I've been away from my dad for like thirteen years, not twelve – so I'm probably not his Dean… but I could be._

Dean had almost exactly the reaction John expected him to have. He was surprised, but he didn't immediately ask if John was his real father. The only part John hadn't anticipated was the calculating look in his eyes as they went inside. He was somewhere far away. John could tell. The father wanted to know what was running through his head, but he couldn't ask. Not after the night his son had already gone through. He didn't need any more trauma. What he needed was _sleep._

"Do I need to check that taser mark?"

"Huh?"

"Did the pins leave a mark when they shocked you?"

"Uh…" Dean snapped out of his musings and shook his head. "Not really. Just little punctures. Kinda cauterized themselves." He shrugged while John locked the door and walked past him on the way down the hall.

"Good. Sit."

Confused, Dean did as he was told, sitting heavily at the kitchen table and only wincing a little as sharp pain jumped from his leg.

John returned with a wet washcloth and handed it to Dean. "Clean your face off. Can't tell how bad those scratches are with that dirt where it is."

While Dean gingerly scrubbed away as much mud as he could, John pulled out the med kit and set it on the table with a glass of water and one hastily made PB and J sandwich. He didn't need Dean throwing up the exceptionally strong pain medication in the night. Or what remained of the night. _He's not going to school tomorrow. At least not in the morning._ "They don't look too bad. They're from when you hit the ground, right?"

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. He was at that point where thinking was becoming difficult and all he could focus on now was how tired he was. It took a lot to actually hear what John was saying.

"Why did you run from the police?" John asked as he carefully pressed a cold pack from the freezer onto Dean's throbbing shoulder. He sat opposite Dean, waiting for an answer.

"Knee jerk reaction."

John sighed, feeling guilty once more. _As if I have any right not to feel like this_. "I hate that you've _ever_ had to run from the police."

A tiny flare of anger had Dean's mind pulling into sharper attention. _Is he judging me? Does he really think I shouldn't have done those things? He knows what it was like for me; I've told him. It's not like I could just pull myself up by my bootstraps and tough it out. I had to do all that, and I had to try not to get caught. I never meant to get caught. Who does?_ "It's my life. I made my own decisions. It's not like I had much choice most of the time, anyway." Dean started to stand, not wanting to accidentally get into an argument with John and get himself kicked out of his very own domestic paradise. Brooding to himself in his room seemed like a much better option.

"Hey, sit down. We're not done here." John said firmly. Dean blatantly glared at him, unable to hold it in. He sat down anyway, holding his cold pack in place with his good hand. "I _know_ you didn't have a choice, Dean. I'm not trying to scold you. What I want to say is… I wish you could've just been a kid. I wish you could've been on a little league team and played pranks on your brother. Learned to drive with your father so you could impress some girl with his car when you went to prom. I wish you could've gotten into fights that weren't life or death, because I _know_ you would've thrown down a time or two with kids at school. Maybe you would've had acne instead of bullet scars. Y'know… I wish you could have gone through stuff that happens to normal kids and done things normal kids get to do as they grow up. I hate that you had to run from _anyone_ because there should've been someone to protect you, not just tolerate you. Your father should've been there for you."

Dean felt bad for jumping to conclusions earlier; John wouldn't have tried to hurt him like that. Hell, the man had never hurt Dean at all, in any form. Dean himself did most of the hurting, for stupid misunderstandings that John _always_ pulled him back from. "I know." He coughed into his arm and tried to shake the sleep from his head before continuing. "I'm pretty sure he wanted to be, but… I don't know. I guess he just couldn't find me. And I have no idea how to find _him_. So I'm just working with what I got, y'know? There was never anything I couldn't handle on my own." _Lies. All lies. I hope he can't tell this time._

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"For what?"

"For not finding you sooner."

 _Red flag. Is he talking about the police station or the woods or… or has he been looking for years? What if he knew he was my Dad when he met me and he asked me to stay with them to keep me out of trouble? That would explain a lot. The search, the hospital, the deal, the way he treats me- it all makes sense in that light. But then why wouldn't he just tell me? He's been listening to me mope over my family the whole time. If he_ was _my Dad, and he_ knew _he was, he would've told me by now. There's no way I'm his kid. He would've told me. He would've told Sam._

 _But just to be thorough... I'll test him. How will he react to_ my _view of my real father? He's gotta feel bad about losing me if he really is my Dad; he's just that kind of person. I bet I can prove it one way or the other by how he responds. I sure hope this works._

"Why…? You didn't even know I existed before the woods. How the hell could you have found me sooner than that?"

"If I knew how, I would've." John scrubbed his face with his hand and pushed the plate closer to Dean. "You need sleep. Eat so you can take your pills."

 _Maybe… maybe I won't try to test him tonight. Not when I can barely think straight and he's on his last nerve. Tomorrow, then._ "Yes, sir."

"Dad?"

Both John and Dean looked up to see Sam in his pajamas, standing in the hallway looking very small and very relieved. And very tired, just like everyone else.

 _If I'm really John's son, then Sammy… he would be the baby._ Dean almost grinned at the thought of having his brother back. If he was actually John's son, that is. _My baby brother. The one I killed. But he's right there, totally not dead, not hurt, not-_

 _He's epileptic. What if I…?_ Dread crawled under Dean's skin. _What if_ I _did that? I dropped him…_

"What are you doin' up, squirt?" John asked as Sam padded over to the table and sat down. "It's late and you have school tomorrow."

"Where were you? Where did you guys go?"

John and Dean exchanged nervous glances. Both of them had hoped to keep Sam in the dark about the happenings of that night. Honestly, they hoped to never bring it up again. It wasn't exactly a high point for either of them.

"I, uh, I went for a walk and some policemen decided I wasn't safe walking around at night. They took me back to the station. Not a big deal. I just needed a ride home, so John had to come pick me up. Sorry." Dean looked from Sam, who appeared to buy the whole story, to his sandwich. Something about eating that late at night, after the emotional rollercoaster and all the new information he was flooded with, made his stomach turn. But it didn't turn as bad as it would if he took his meds without food. That was _so_ much worse. Worse than living with the pain _and_ not eating at all, actually.

"I left a note. You didn't see it, I'm guessing?"

"Uh… no. Where was it?"

John stood and took the paper from the counter, crumpling it up and throwing it in the trash before Sam could read about how John was going looking for Dean instead of just picking him up. "Over here."

"Oh. But I called you."

"Left my phone here by accident."

"I know. I heard it ring. I called Dean, too, but his phone was off."

"Yeah, the cops took it."

"Why were you gone so long? I've been up for like two hours and you were gone when I first woke up." Sam said, his tone accusing.

"I checked on you before I left, kid. You were sleeping not an hour ago."

Sam blushed, his exaggerated lie exposed. "Okay, so maybe I wasn't awake the whole time, but you _were_ gone two hours ago. Why did it take so long to pick Dean up?"

"Paperwork." John and Dean spoke at the same time, leaving Sam little room for argument and John a subtle swelling of pride at being in sync with his oldest for once.

"I thought somebody got hurt. Or got taken. Or that Dean ran away."

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry I forgot my phone and scared you-"

"I wasn't scared." Sam lied, crossing his arms and trying to look tough.

"But I didn't think you'd wake up and you have school tomorrow. You need to sleep."

"I _needed_ somebody to clue me in to what was happening. I woke up to an empty house, Dad."

"I know, Sam, but-"

"I had to call-"

"Hey. Listen to me. You aren't an only child; I need to keep Dean safe, too. I'm not going to apologize again. Back to bed." John had to use his 'father' voice to dial his son's anger back to a more reasonable level. He hated being the bad guy, but if he had to be a villain to raise his kids right, then he would. No questions asked.

 _He's not an only child? So that means…_ Dean's eyes got wide and he discreetly glanced at John. _He knows something I don't know. I just have to make sure before I confront him. Before I ask him about… myself._

"But I called-"

"Now, Sam."

"Whatever." Sam scoffed, leaving the room in a cloud of angst. _Wait until Uncle Bobby shows up. I bet Dad will wish he listened to me then._

* * *

 **A/N: Don't forget to leave me your thoughts in the review box below! And follow and favorite to stay up to date!**

 **See you Monday!**


	28. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**A/N: Vivi here. Still have writer's block. Doing this fic like one paragraph at a time. It's taking forever. Still no luck for my other fics.**

 **Warnings for abuse and violence, all previous warnings apply.**

 **Also, keep in mind that a lot of small children don't know their parent's actual names. They're just Mom and Dad until the kid is older and realizes their parents are actual people with actual names.**

 **Enjoy! And don't forget to leave me some words at the bottom there.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"Whatever." Sam scoffed, leaving the room in a cloud of angst._ Wait until Uncle Bobby shows up. I bet Dad will wish he listened to me then.

* * *

John managed to get both his kids back in bed within the next ten minutes. Sam was still angry, but he was also tired and that made it _so_ much easier to convince him to sleep. But Dean was acting weird again. _That's never a good thing. There's no way he's going to bolt again, right? Not after tonight. Maybe I should try talking to him, see what's messing with him_ now _._

Dean was already in his room, door closed, lights out, when John finally decided to talk to him. He'd missed his opportunity.

As much as John wanted to just hit the hay at that point, he waited ten minutes and checked on both of his boys, just in case. Sam was already snoring, but Dean barely looked asleep, the shadows under his eyes visible even in the darkness of the room. John hoped his high strung runner would sleep through the night and maybe feel better in the morning. If he deserved anything, it was a good night's rest.

"Sleep tight, kiddo."

* * *

"Get up!"

Dean jerked awake and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He looked around, trying to clear the fog from his head while searching for the source of the voice. It was loud; that wasn't normal. Not at this time of day. The room was mostly dark but already he could hear strange noises from outside the house. Spikes of adrenaline and fear nearly closed off Dean's throat.

Before he could find whoever yelled, he heard footsteps. A lot of footsteps.

Then someone screamed.

Chaos ensued.

Bernard and Catherine came racing down the stairs, jumping over the last few in their hurry toward the back door. Heinrich, Nutmeg, and Diesel followed quickly behind them, barely giving Dean a second glance.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end even though he knew they couldn't hurt him unless Winthrop said so. And he was pretty sure Winthrop hadn't said so this time, because the vampire himself came barreling into the living room – or what was left of it, the old house was slowly falling apart and was probably condemned – and ripped the stair rung that Dean's lead was tied to right out of the handrail.

"Get up." He growled, pulling Dean upright by the length of chain that was attached to his padlocked collar. It choked him and scratched his neck but if Dean complained, or even made a sound, Winthrop wouldn't be happy. And Dean could only sleep when Winthrop was happy.

Not that he thought he would get any more sleep for a long time anyway. Something very bad seemed to be happening, but Dean didn't know exactly what. More members of the nest were yelling and screaming now, from outside the house.

"Kelsey! No-"

"Hunters! Run for it!"

" _Help m-_ "

There were some voices Dean didn't recognize, too. Those were less distressed and more… angry. Or tense.

"This is a bigger nest than you said, John."

"I didn't know, Tim. Cut me some slack."

"Can it, you two. Reed just got his neck ripped out. We gotta go _now_ before we lose any more."

"No, Bobby, he's here. I'm sure this time. I tracked them-"

"He's dead, John! It's time to accept the facts. Now let's _go._ "

"We can't, Bobby. He's he-"

A sickeningly sloppy _crack thud_ echoed through the kitchen accompanied by a grunt or growl that wasn't from anyone Dean recognized. Then he thought he saw the tip of a blade covered in blood through the doorway, swinging with force at something just out of view. Another _crack thud_ hit Dean's ears before he felt the chain attached to his collar fall behind him, the weight no longer pulling at his throat.

 _Hunters._

A vampire's worst enemy.

Before Dean could make a run for the kitchen, where he desperately hoped some real, actual people were trying to find him, Winthrop swept him up in his arms, using one to hold him up, around his ribcage, and the other to clamp his mouth shut so he could barely breathe, much less yell. It hurt being carried like that; Dean wasn't quite as small as he had been when they kidnapped him. It hurt then, and it hurt even more now. Not that Winthrop cared.

Winthrop was lean and fast. Of all the vampires Dean had been exposed to, he seemed to exude the most power, command the most authority. Even amongst the various nests his own visited occasionally, Winthrop was always the calm, deadly snake that you didn't want to step near. He could outrun anyone, defeat any opponent in a fight, and he had the most human lives under his belt. He was the oldest vampire Dean knew or knew of.

Dean supposed being claimed by Winthrop wasn't the worst fate he could have met that night, a lifetime ago. He didn't know why, but Winthrop dragged him from the motel room and dumped him into the backseat of a car with a different vampire. They drove away, Dean putting up as much of a fight as he could, but the vampire beside him held him down and bit him hard.

Dean still had nightmares about the brains and blood splattered on the car's back window.

Winthrop didn't like his possessions being touched without his permission.

Most of the younger vampires seemed to respect him the moment they met him. Dean wasn't sure if it was some kind of power thing or a scent or rumors, but they submitted to his authority almost automatically. Maybe it was because he was so old. Not that Dean was impressed by his age or the discipline he demanded. If the others knew his secret, they probably wouldn't have left Dean alone once WIN was etched in his skin.

Dean knew why he stayed so old.

He ran.

This wasn't the first time humans had attacked his nest. In the eight months Dean had been with them, the vampires were ambushed by humans at least three times, each brawl taking at least two human lives and at least four vampires. Most of the attacks ended with Winthrop having to make more companions or find a new nest to rule over. Only two other vampires remained from the original nest, and they followed Winthrop like a king. Diesel and his mate, Nutmeg, were the main enforcers of Dean's safety when Winthrop was away.

Each attack saw Winthrop – and one time Nutmeg - whisk Dean out of the fray and out of sight before he saw any other human. The most Dean saw during those moments before being taken away was a blade, a hand, maybe a leg through a doorway or window. Dean knew why Winthrop didn't want him to see or be seen by other humans.

The humans might know Daddy.

They might tell Daddy where Dean was.

And Daddy would come and take Dean back.

And then Winthrop wouldn't be the oldest vampire anymore.

Tears fell from his eyes as Dean was squeezed too tight to breathe. He pushed at the arm around him but he knew it wouldn't do much more good than let the vampire know he couldn't breathe. Winthrop kicked a window and it shattered, sending little shards onto Dean's skin. He hoped he wouldn't bleed too much. The vampires got mean if he bled.

Winthrop practically leapt through the window, landing hard on the cellar doors, which rattled and banged loud enough for anyone near the house to hear.

But then Winthrop ran. Before Dean's eyes could adjust to the sudden brightness of the outside light, it was gone. Winthrop pulled the door of the shed shut with his foot and hauled Dean deep inside it, behind a big piece of metal that Dean thought was probably some kind of farm equipment, or maybe part of a car. Winthrop crouched down behind it, still holding onto Dean with too much force.

"Make so much as a peep and I'll let the nest have their way with you. Whatever they want. And you'll live through it – you'll live to regret it."

Dean pushed lightly on Winthrop's arm. He let up enough for Dean to breathe. Through all the attacks so far, Dean had stayed silent, fearing the familiar threat that Winthrop would no doubt see through. He'd had brief, terrifying, painful glimpses of what 'whatever they want' was like, and he didn't want it. Never again. They never gave him time to recover between those glimpses and Dean knew he had scars on scars already.

But this time, Dean decided that if he heard someone come close enough to hear his screams, he would try. Maybe this would be the day that Daddy finally found him.

It was a long few minutes and most of the screaming had stopped. In the distance, Dean could hear a few men shouting. It kinda sounded like his name, but he couldn't be sure. He really, _really_ wanted it to be his name, but they were too far away. He really, _really_ wanted what sounded like Daddy's voice to be Daddy, but he was too far away to be sure. Dean was starting to forget what Daddy sounded like. He'd already forgotten the baby's name, but he thought that if he tried hard enough, he could remember it. His little brother was his favorite thing in the world; how could he _not_ remember his name?

Two pairs of footsteps approached the shed door.

Dean took his chance and screamed into Winthrop's hand, kicking and struggling as much as he could. "Daddy!"

Winthrop clamped down on him, pinning his arms down and shutting off his mouth _and_ his nose so Dean couldn't even breathe. He almost passed out before Winthrop let go. And that was only because he _pretended_ to pass out. It was an art he had perfected.

In retrospect, Dean was naïve. Why would he think hunters would be looking for _him_? The thought had crossed his mind that Daddy was dead before Dean was even taken away. And maybe nobody found the baby. Maybe Dean really _had_ hurt him when he fell.

Dean might have killed his baby brother. It made more sense every day.

And if Dean really did kill the baby, and Daddy _was_ alive, he would be really mad.

But… Dean didn't think he wouldn't look for him. Daddy loved him. Right?

So why hadn't Daddy found him yet?

Diesel and Nutmeg rushed into the shed and closed the door quickly, but quietly. "Report." Winthrop growled, sending shivers down Dean's spine.

"Time to make a break for it." Diesel said. Dean noticed both he and Nutmeg were speckled with blood. It was a familiar look nowadays, but it still worried Dean. What if they killed Daddy?

Nutmeg ripped up a metal panel on the back of the shed, allowing light to pour into the musty space. She went out first.

She screamed.

Diesel was out in a flash with Winthrop close on his tail.

Someone else screamed, but it wasn't Diesel or Nutmeg.

Ten minutes later, Winthrop looked down out of the tree he hid in and saw Diesel walking toward them. Alone.

"Give him to me." Diesel practically spat. He locked eyes with Dean and Dean knew he had made a grave mistake.

"He is _mine._ Where is Nutmeg?"

Diesel didn't answer. He just looked enraged, eyes nearly red as they fixed on Dean.

"Any survivors?"

"Three humans. They high tailed it when they saw me kill the meatsack that killed Meg. Took off in a truck." Diesel spat at the ground. "One of 'em was _that_ blood." He pointed directly at Dean.

Winthrop dropped from the tree, some twenty feet, jarring Dean and bruising, if not cracking, several ribs. Dean shed a few tears, his sobs muffled by the hand that was still over his mouth, as Winthrop strolled right up to Diesel. " _This is mine_. But stay by my side and you can be part of the demise of the entire bloodline."

"When?"

"As soon as we find the man who killed Martha and the rest of his family."

Diesel glared daggers at Dean once again. Winthrop noticed.

"You'll be pleased to know that Win misbehaved today." Winthrop dropped Dean, who fell to the forest floor gasping for air and sobbing loudly. He could barely see through the tears.

Dean knew what was coming.

"Whatever I want?"

"Whatever you want."

* * *

"I want you to wake up now, son. Dean, come back. Shh, you need to wake up."

Dean's eyes shot open but were too blurred with tears to see what was going on. He swatted one shaking hand at the figure he thought he saw leaning over him. It was hard to see anything in darkness this deep. The figure just pinned his arm down with one hand and tapped his face with the other. The sobs kept coming and Dean was getting more panicked by the second. _He's back, he's finally back for me. Gotta get Sam, tell John-_

"Hey- no. Wake up, kid. C'mon, calm down. It's just me."

Dean struggled against the hand holding his arm and jerked away from the one on his face; he _hated_ being touched. No good things ever came of being touched.

Especially not with Diesel. And for all Dean knew, this could very well be the fang himself, back for revenge once more.

"You're safe, kiddo. Just take a breath, look at me."

 _Kiddo?_ "Dad?" Dean gasped, trying to breathe despite the fact that his chest was so tight he thought he might never draw in air again.

Dean felt the hands move away from him and he was about to jump up and run when searing light flooded his eyes. He flinched and covered his face with his good arm. Blindly, he swung his legs off of the bed and stumbled to the far wall, trying to get his eyes to adjust before whoever was in the room came at him again.

When he could finally see through the light and the tears, Dean almost collapsed in relief. The man was tall, strong, had hair a little darker than Sammy's, and bags under his eyes to match Dean's own. He was familiar. He was calm. He was Dad. And Dean immediately felt safe _._ "Dad. You scared me." Embarrassed, Dean tried to get his breathing under control and forced a light laugh. "Was I making noise? I do that sometimes, when I sleep. Sorry."

John watched his oldest push away from the wall unsteadily and sit at the end of his bed, facing John like a scolded puppy as he rubbed his eyes. The man himself couldn't budge; he couldn't believe what he just heard. _He called me Dad. Without even thinking. He called me Dad. Does he… does he know? Does he recognize me now? Did he already put the dots together? What if his nightmare helped him remember what I look like or something?_

"Da- er, John?" Dean's face flushed bright red. _Shit. I called him Dad. No wonder he looks surprised. Did I cross a line? I mean, I basically just tried to shove myself into his other son's spot. He's not gonna like that, not one bit. Especially if we're not related._

John shook his head, trying to dissipate the stupor that seemed to have fallen on him. _Just a slip, then._ "Yeah. Yeah, it's me. You okay?" He made a solid effort to listen for the answer through the pounding in his ears.

"I'm fine. Is Sam okay? Did something happen? Was I talking in my sleep or something?" Dean asked, confused. There was no significant light beyond his window; it wasn't morning yet. Not even late enough to wake up for school. _What happened? It's not time to get up. Why is he here looking all shocked? What did I do?_

 _Was it the 'Dad' thing? Was I yelling in my sleep again?_

"Sam's fine. You were having a nightmare. Sounded pretty bad." John went to sit next to his son on the bed. He didn't know it was possible to look more tired than Dean had when they returned from the police station, but somehow, the kid pulled it off. _So much for a normal sleep schedule._

"Oh. Sorry if I woke you up."

"This isn't the first nightmare I've heard you having, Dean. What's going on?"

Dean glanced over at John, nervous about the impending conversation. He didn't want to tell John the real reason he was missing sleep, but the man would know if he was lying. He already knew more than Dean thought he did; Dean was hoping he hid the other nightmares well enough to go unnoticed. Apparently not. "I… I, uh, just have 'em sometimes. No big deal."

"They're a big deal if you can't sleep because of them. Kiddo, I've heard you call for Sammy, Jerold, and now… now Dad. What's that about?" John watched Dean's face flush once more, nervousness painted all over him. He seemed to get smaller the longer John watched him.

"Sorry for waking you up."

"Look, if you don't want to tell me about the nightmares, then just say so. But don't keep apologizing for something that isn't your fault. I'm tired of hearing it."

"Sorry." _I can't- I'm not sharp enough to test him yet. I need to sleep. But I can't. Haven't slept more than eight hours since we got here._

"Dean…" John used the tone he usually pulled out when he was warning Sam that the kid was pushing on his last nerve. He didn't know if it would work on Dean yet, but it would eventually. His son was becoming more and more like a normal kid every day.

"I don't know what to tell you." Dean blurted out quickly, looking to the carpet so he wouldn't have to see the anger in John's eyes. "I've been through some shit. It stuck around in my brain. Sometimes it shows up when I have my guard down and kinda… leaks out." Adrenaline began to pulse in his veins and that alone was enough to set Dean on edge. It clouded his head and made everything seem ten times worse than it really was. _He's pissed that I keep waking him up. Probably woke Sam up, too. He's mad about that, I'll bet. And I went and got picked up by the cops and screwed him over again. He keeps having to hear about my stupid head calling my baby brother Sam and my stupid brain begging Jerold for help and now I'm yelling for Dad. Now this- maybe this is the breaking point. I mean, if I'm not his son, then I have his kid's name. It's gotta sting that I'm yelling 'Dad' and he… he probably heard his son yell that all the time. Probably still hears it in nightmares. I'm probably bringing up memories he never wanted to relive. I have to explain. He's gotta know I'm not doing this on purpose. Not yet, at least._

"I'm not mad-"

"I'm sorry. Really, I don't mean to keep waking you up. I try to keep all this stuff in but sometimes I can't and… You probably want to know what it's about, right? Because it's not your fault or anything, it's just… So, uh… When I was six, a nest took me from a motel room. I said my brother's name to try to wake him up so I could hide him. That's why I keep yelling 'Sammy'. That's not my brother's name but that's what my brain puts in my mouth. When I was seven, hunters attacked the nest that took me and I yelled for my Dad. Winthrop didn't like that. His punishments were… painful. Got worse as I grew up; took 'em two years to perfect their art. It was stupid to think that my Dad would hear me from that shed; stupid to think he was there that day. I shouldn't have even tried. And then, when I was sixteen, Lucy threw a wine bottle at my head and floored me. I yelled for Jerold to make her stop kicking me. You'd think I would freak about the wolves that have gotten me, or the fangs, or that wendigo, but no. I just dream about people I knew. I'm so pathetic." Dean sat on his hand to hide the shaking, closed his eyes, and tried to just breathe while he waited for a response from John. _That was everything he wanted to hear, I think. Now he knows. Now he won't ask again and maybe he won't get mad._

"Kiddo…" John didn't think he would sleep again for a very long time. Not after listening to his son list off some of his father's greatest failures. "You have no idea how much I wish I could change the past." _I was there for that raid. You were in the shed. The one place we didn't stick around to check. The vampires hurt you for_ two years _? You… you 'grew up' with them hurting you. You saved your brother and that was the thanks you got. I wasn't there to protect you. I failed you._ I damned you _._

 _There's no way I can fix what I did. I'd go through hell and high water to change the past but… All I can do now is keep you safe until you don't need me anymore. Until you… until you outgrow me._

 _So if Lucy thinks she's ever getting her hands on you again, she's in for a hard lesson. I've broken the rule before, and I will break it again. Won't even bat an eye if she threatens you. Same goes for that head fang. Winthrop, I think. Nice to finally have a name to put to that security-footage face. Can't wait to take my time with that SOB._

Dean sniffed his nose and coughed into his elbow. _He practically set it up for me. I sure hope this works. Here goes nothin'._ "Why should you be the one who wants to change my past? Why should you have any influence on what the world did to me? It's not _your_ fault. My Dad was the only protection I had in the whole world and he fucked up _royally_. I mean, look at me. I have Winthrop's brand on my neck, a couple bullet scars, friggin' chlamydia, a busted arm, and pneumonia from being homeless. I've committed _fratricide._ And _you_ , a complete stranger, are taking care of me. You have to do _everything for me_ because I can't do it myself _._ You literally had to scrape me off the pavement and piece me back together. There's no way I _couldn't_ have nightmares. There's no way I can ever be part of a normal family and I just need to get that through my thick skull so I can stop moping about it and move on with my life. You don't want to hear about it, Sam doesn't want to hear about, I don't want to weigh anyone else down with it but I have and I am and I hate myself for it. It's not fair to you or Sam-"

John rested his hand on Dean's good shoulder, effectively silencing his son. Those too mature, too tired dinosaur green eyes flashed to him, looking scared and exhausted.

 _He looks… sad? What do I do with sad? He was supposed to be mad or upset or mean, not- not sad._ "I- I didn't mean to tell you all that." Dean's voice was little more than a whisper. _So much for them not knowing that I have a disease. Or that I've been shot more than once. Or that I killed my brother. Maybe. I haven't been this tired in a while, I guess._

"I'm glad you did." John let go, seeing that the physical contact was making Dean uncomfortable. "Dean, we need to talk about a few things. But not tonight. I want you to sleep, okay?"

 _Talk about things? What things?_ "Okay." Dean barely managed to get the word out. He was having a hard time believing that John could just absorb his rant in its entirety and still be as level headed as he seemed to be. _He must not have heard me. Or he just doesn't care. Or… or this is a 'Dad' skill. I'm sure Sam rants all the time; John has probably mastered the poker face. That's why he's not angry or mean or upset. Has to be._

"Think you can do that?"

"No."

 _Well that was blunt._ "Is there _anything_ I can do to make you go to sleep?"

 _Put me in Sam's room._ Dean thought, or at least, he thought he thought.

John heard the murmured request, but just barely. At this point, he wasn't sure if Dean meant to voice it or not. "Is this bed too hard for your back?" _Is it the bed or the kid that you need to sleep?_

Dean blinked a few times. "Uh, no, sir. It's a nice bed."

 _He_ didn't _mean to say it, then; he just wants to be with Sammy. Makes sense. They used to share the crib all the time._ "Well, that bottom bunk is a little too soft for me. Would you mind switching with-"

"Yeah. Please." Dean answered before John even finished his sentence. He really hoped that didn't make John think he was trying to be disrespectful. That was the last thing he wanted, especially after his selfish tirade.

Much to Dean's surprise, John smiled. _There's my little trooper._ "The bottom bunk is yours, then. Get some rest, Dean. You need it." John watched as Dean stood, more steadily than earlier, and left the room.

Ten minutes later, he went into the boys' room to check on them.

Both were sleeping soundly and above all, quietly.

* * *

 **A/N: I promise Bobby is in the next chapter. And of course, when Bobby shows up, the plot goes haywire. Leave me a review; I don't get many nowadays. What do you like about this story? What do you dislike? How's my writing style? When will John finally tell Dean about his family? Let me know in the box below!**


	29. You Give Love a Bad Name

**A/N: Vivi here! Surprise! You'll hate me by the end of this chapter.**

 **Don't forget to Favorite/Follow the story and me to catch these random mid-week posts!**

 **Previous warnings apply.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John watched as Dean stood, more steadily than earlier, and left the room._

 _Ten minutes later, he went into the boys' room to check on them._

 _Both were sleeping soundly and above all, quietly._

* * *

The next morning, Sam woke up confused again with the events of the previous night totally forgotten. Dean was in the bottom bunk, not Dad. _What's goin' on now?_

He found Dad in the kitchen, having his coffee and reading the paper. "Is Dean okay?"

"To the best of my knowledge, yes. Why? Somethin' wrong?"

"No. He's sleeping in my room, though. I thought he had his own room."

"We traded. Something about the other room wouldn't let him sleep." John lied, wanting to protect at least some of Dean's pride. "He's still out, right?"

"Yeah. So… is this permanent?" Sam's hands started to wring; he didn't know why he was nervous, but he was.

"If that's okay with you, then yes. He hasn't been able to sleep in the other room and he needs rest more than we do right now." _Please don't make a scene about this._

"Okay. Yeah, I think… I think it's okay. I don't mind." Sam said with a hint of a smile. He was thrilled at the thought of not having to share a room with his father anymore. The man snored like a bear. And he liked having Dean close by. He didn't know why that was, but it felt right, like it was second nature.

"Good. Get ready for school, then."

"What about Dean? Should I wake him up?"

John sighed, folding the paper and setting it on the table. "Dean isn't going to school this morning. Maybe this afternoon. We'll see how the doctor's appointment goes."

"He hasn't been to school _at all_ yet, Dad. Only for the entrance exam." Sam whined. "When is he gonna actually go?" _Castiel is gonna think I lied about having a brother._

"As soon as he can. Sam, I need you to understand that Dean isn't like you, or the other kids at school. He has some pressing health issues that would make it very difficult- if not impossible- for him to learn anything even if he _did_ go. We just need to get those under control. Then he can go without a problem." _Probably. Assuming he still wants to go._

"Is Dean gonna be okay?"

"After we get him sorted, yeah. Why? What do you mean, squirt?"

"It's Sam. I mean, is he… Will he… Do you think he'll be able to fit in with the other kids? I don't think he likes crowds. Or people in general. And he acts kinda funny sometimes."

John almost barked a laugh. _Acts funny. I wonder why that is._ "He's a sharp kid. He'll adjust pretty quick, I'm sure. As long as he feels safe, we shouldn't have a problem. Now go on. We gotta leave soon."

"Can I ride the bus?"

John looked to his youngest in surprise. "You never want to ride the bus."

"I do now." Sam's hands were wringing again, worse than before. He shoved them into the pockets of his pajama pants to keep them from betraying his nerves.

"Why is that?"

"Just cuz."

"Do you have friends on the bus or something? This isn't like you, kiddo." _Sammy's a creature of habit. Red flag._

"No, not yet, but… we're gonna be here for a while, right?"

"Right."

"Well, almost everybody rides the buses, and I kinda wanted to… y'know."

"You want to fit in." John said exactly what Sam was thinking. Then, feeling like a failed parent once again, he sighed. "Sam, you don't have to fit in _all_ the time. It's okay to be different or stand out a little right now; there isn't any suspicious activity within a hundred miles of us. I trust you to make good decisions. You're old enough now to be able to handle yourself most of the time."

"So I can ride the bus?"

"I don't see a problem with it. As long as you keep your cell on you."

"Cool. So… can I bring a friend home later? I'm gonna see if he'll help me with my English homework." Sam noticed his hands had escaped his pockets and were was wringing themselves again. He put them back, hoping they'd stay there until the conversation was over.

Usually he waited at least a week or two before asking Dad if he could bring a friend home to study with. Not that he didn't have people over when he knew Dad was away, but still. He knew his father was overly cautious and rushing into that sort of thing made him grumpy and super overbearing. Sam didn't want another lecture, but he needed _someone_ to help him with that stupid essay. The more he thought about it, the worse his half-written paper seemed. It really didn't even make sense to _him_ anymore; he couldn't begin to hope that the teacher would give it a good grade.

Sam hoped Castiel had already gone through that course and could give him some hints about the rubric; maybe he'd even explain what the heck Juliet meant about the stupid rose. Honestly, Sam thought Castiel was his only hope of actually passing the assignment and dodging the 'failure wrath of Dad'.

"You've only been there one day and you've already got a study buddy?"

 _C'mon, Dad. Lighten up a little._ "Yes, sir." Sam lied. He wasn't even sure Castiel would _want_ to help him, much less come to his house and risk his reputation by helping the weird new kid.

John thought for a few seconds, debating the consequences of bringing a stranger into the house while Dean was still so out of it. The cons outweighed the pros. "No, Sam. I don't want any outsiders in the house until Dean is well enough to go to school. We can't risk destabilizing him like that."

"He'll be fine, Dad. He doesn't even have to sit with us. Castiel won't be here for a long time, anyways. Like an hour at the most." Sam's voice sounded less like a confident teenager and more like a whiny little kid and he hated it. He always did that when he argued a losing point with Dad.

"No. That's final."

Anger filled Sam's chest and it was all he could do to keep it in. He was still grounded, after all, and he really wanted to be able to go to a football game at the school before they left town. He'd gotten good at choosing his battles. "Whatever."

"If you don't hurry, you'll miss the bus."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Sam left for the bus stop before the sun came up, without speaking another word to his father. John tried not to worry about it, but was still immensely relieved when Sam sent him a short message confirming his arrival at the high school.

* * *

The entire morning was spent calling each contact in John's journal. No one had any news on the nest that hurt his son- John didn't want everyone knowing the nest took one of his kids, that was sensitive information- or any information on any big activity nearby. That was only slightly reassuring. Nests as small as the one that took Dean could stay hidden for a long time in cities or very rural areas, where missing persons were common.

"Okay, Rick. Thanks." John hung up the phone and set it on the table in front of him, running one hand through his hair as he tried to decide who to call next. It was ten in the morning by that point, but with the time difference, some of his fellow hunters in far off places may not appreciate a call this early.

Needless to say, John immediately tensed when two sharp knocks echoed through the room, snapping him from his musings. He stood silently and moved to the door; it was at that point he wished it had an aperture to see who was on the other side. But alas, this wasn't a motel.

So he took one of his handguns from a drawer in the kitchen and made sure his knife was still secured to his belt. When trying to listen through the door proved fruitless, he pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of the flimsy thing, angled in such a way that it would kill whatever unsuspecting thing was on the other side, should it prove to be less than friendly. And if it could be killed with plain old bullets, of course.

He turned the knob and opened the door just a fraction of an inch.

 _Oh shit._

"John Winchester, you open this door before I open it for ya." Bobby Singer shoved his way over the threshold when John hesitated.

John stumbled backward and shut the door- he wanted so badly to slam it, but he needed Dean to sleep until Bobby left so no one would be the wiser- while Bobby stood in his kitchen, arms crossed, expression less than friendly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" John made sure there was plenty of sarcasm in his voice as he returned his gun to its drawer.

"Your _only_ son."

Confusion covered John's face. "What?"

"He called me. Told me he woke up alone and you were gone. He said _Dean_ was gone, too. Sounded pretty shook up about it. Wanted to see if I was available to help find you idgits should the occasion arise. He never called me back, so I headed out this mornin', just to make sure he was okay. And to have speaks with you about that stray you picked up."

 _Shit shit shit. Dammit, Sam, you have no idea how much trouble you're in._ "I had to make a run last night. Couldn't take Sam and he was already sleeping, so I figured it would be fine. Sam let me know his feelings when I got back. Why did he call you?"

"Said he was scared that Dean ran off or got 'taken' and you left to find 'im." Bobby narrowed his eyes and took a few steps closer to John. "Wanna explain that?"

"No."

"Well you're gonna. I'm not leaving until I know you're still fit to care for Sam. He depends on you, John. He needs to be your top priority. You can't go flittin' off after some little punk and leave Sam unprotected like that!" Bobby was yelling by the time he finished, very clearly upset that John put Sam in such an unstable position.

"Keep it down. I have neighbors here." John growled. _If Dean wakes up, it's not gonna be pretty._ "You can't just barge in and shout in my face, Singer. This could've been handled over the phone."

"I am _sick_ of being lied to, John. How many times have you told me you didn't know where the Ross boy was? How long have you been putting Sam at risk?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Sam's perfectly safe with me."

"The boy has _killed_ , John! Monsters _and_ humans. He's dangerous and I won't have Sam living under the same roof." Bobby did not lower his voice and it was starting to make John nervous. Dean wasn't a deep sleeper by any stretch of the imagination and John did _not_ want his two worlds to collide like _this_.

"Who says the Ross kid is here?"

"Sam did. I called that woman, John, told her where Dean is. And y'know what? She found his real father. A man named James Winthrop. That boy is not yours to keep; you lost your Dean twelve years ago and you need to _accept that_."

Bobby looked up when a soft thud came from the hallway.

John looked, too.

Dean stood in the darkness of the corridor, inside the shadow from the kitchen light. His back pack lay on the ground, just beyond his fingertips. The kid's hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, his socks didn't match, he still had dark circles under his eyes, and there was hurt and fear written all over his face.

Dean had been getting ready for his first day of school.

"I- I never… killed…" His voice was barely a whisper as nervous eyes jumped from Bobby to John and back again.

"Dean, go back to your room." John said firmly just as Bobby lunged forward. "Hey-"

Dean stumbled back a few feet before John managed to grab Bobby's arm and stop him from going any closer to his son. He didn't want to think about what Bobby would've done if he'd gotten his hands on the kid. _Anything to scare him away, probably_.

"I thought you weren't sending me back." Dean's fear filled eyes locked with John's for a split second before he turned around and ran into his room, slamming the door.

"Dean, wait!" John pulled Bobby back, pushing him away from the hall, and rushed towards Dean's door. _He's gonna do something stupid, I just know it-_

Bobby caught John by the back of his shirt and shoved him into the wall before he made it to Dean's door. "That boy is _not your son_ , John. You need to get that through your thick skull and focus on the one boy you have left. He doesn't deserve this kind of neglect."

Both men looked up at the sound of a dull thud and a few muffled curses from the bunk room. John shoved Bobby, who was caught off guard, sending him into the opposite wall. "Dean _is_ my son, Singer. I knew it back at the trailhead in Orem and a fingerprint scan confirmed it last night. He's the right age. He has green eyes. He and Sam mesh like no one else I've ever seen and Dean remembers him. He just lost Sam's name in the _two years_ he was tortured by vampires before the Ross' got to him and treated him like a slave!" John was shouting and he knew it. He meant to. He needed Dean to hear him as much as he needed Bobby to understand. _I'm ready, kiddo. You need to know that you belong right here, with me and your brother, no matter what happens._ "He is _my son_ and I won't let any piece of shit take him away from me again. You included."

Bobby's narrowed and suspicious eyes slowly widened, betraying his surprise. "A fingerprint scan?"

"Yes. He- he was out walking last night and the PD picked him up, ran his prints. That's why I was gone when Sam woke up. Dean is my son, Bobby. The boy in that room is Dean _Winchester_." John pointed to Dean's door and sighed. "It took me twelve years to find him. I'm not going to let you, or that bitch, or some creep lying about being his father take my son from me. He needed me and I failed him. I won't let that happen again."

"And you're sure he's your boy? No doubt in your mind?" Bobby asked quietly.

"He has his beads, Bobby." John forced a weak, ashamed smile. "The ones _I know_ he was wearing just before he was taken. The ones that I didn't find on the floor when he was gone."

"The same kind Sam has?"

"Dean's are stained red in places and beat up, but yes."

Bobby stared at John for a long few seconds, disturbed shock written all over his face and body language. "Holy shit."

"Do you believe me now?" John asked, backing up to get to Dean's door while still facing Bobby. He _needed_ to make sure Dean was okay; he _needed_ to make sure Dean heard what was said.

"I'm startin' to."

John knocked at Dean's door, but got no reply. "Dean? I just want to talk. You're not going anywhere, okay?"

No response.

He knocked one more time, waited exactly five seconds, and opened the door.

The window, which was seven feet off the ground, was open. Dean's shoes were gone.

Dean was gone.

* * *

 _He lied to me._ Dean pulled his good arm across his eyes and continued running between houses, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the Winchesters as possible. _Why did I ever think he might be my Dad? He just Stockholm-ed me until that guy could get here to take me away. Take me back to Lucy. She probably has a price on my head._ Dean felt his legs go numb and he stumbled to a halt in some yuppy family's back yard, right next to their pool. _He said Lucy found Winthrop. How…? How could she have found…?_ He swallowed hard. _There's no way she could've found him. He found her. He probably caught wind of John finding me in those woods and went straight to her house, thinking I'd be brought back somehow._

 _Lucy doesn't want me back. Winthrop does._

 _If they find me, I'm dead… If they get me and don't kill me, I'll kill myself as soon as I can. I won't live like that again. Not like I did with Winthrop. Not like I did with Lucy. Not like I did before- before the Winchesters._

 _I'll probably never live like I did_ with _the Winchesters, either._

 _The price of freedom._

"What the hell are you doing in my yard?"

Dean took off, leaving the angry man's property before he was shot or reported to the police. He'd have to steal a car sometime soon, get as far away from Temple as he could before Lucy and Winthrop got too close. Before John found him.

 _I trusted you._

* * *

"Why did you lie to me?"

John pictured himself slugging Bobby in his mind, imagined the redness and bruising the impact would leave. He didn't want to discuss how he tried to protect his son from the man who just tried to brush him off like some con artist. The car wasn't exactly the best place for a conversation that physical. John was glad he had something else to focus on: searching the road, sidewalk, houses, anywhere he could see through the windows of the Impala for his scared, confused little trooper.

"John, I'm talking to you."

"All you've done for _years_ is try to convince me that my firstborn was dead. How do you think _he_ would've felt if I told you I found him and you went off on him? Oh, wait. We already know that answer. He'd run." John's knuckles were white on the steering wheel as they flew down street after street.

"If you'd have just told me in the first place and explained your reasoning, I wouldn't have had to do all this." Bobby snapped. "Does Sam know? He didn't say anything about _this_ over the phone."

"No. I- I wasn't ready for either of them to know who Dean is. I _just_ got him back, Bobby. He'd been living on the streets, abused his whole life- how would you feel if a strange man told you that he was your father? Would you go anywhere with him?" John glanced to the passenger seat and was slightly encouraged to see that Bobby was scanning his side of the road just as John was scanning the other.

"Not a chance."

"Exactly. I was concerned that if I told him too soon, he'd bolt and I'd never find him again. He bought the whole 'hired help' thing- barely- and I thought _that_ was a miracle. I couldn't tell Sam because what if Dean left? Sam would go his whole life knowing I hid a _brother_ from him, we found that brother, and then _I_ let him slip through my fingers. No way would I put Sam through that." John pounded one palm on the steering wheel and growled softly. "I should've told him last night."

"He see the results?"

John shook his head before peering between two bright yellow houses as they drove. "No, I kept them from him. But the officer let slip that I had a missing son and Dean was all over that. I told the kid the whole story, Bobby, and all he said was 'that was how I lost my family, too'. I told him his own _name_ and he didn't let the dots connect, at least not vocally. I could see the gears turning, and I was sure he was going to ask if he was my missing son, but he never did."

"He's not dull, is he?"

Bobby received a sharp glare. "No, he's quick on the uptake and surprisingly bright for a kid who barely went to school."

"Why's that?"

"He's my son." John said with a hint of a smile. "Of course he's smart."

"No, the 'barely went to school' part."

John frowned, glancing to his left every so often to peer into backyards. "Jerry started him hunting as soon as he went to stay with them. Only enrolled him when he had to, when the police came asking questions. He can barely read."

"Damn."

"You're tellin' me. If that ass wasn't already dead, I'd put him down."

"So… Dean, _your_ Dean, doesn't know that you're his father or that Sam is his brother?"

"No, and he thinks he killed Sam the night he was taken. Sam was sick, he was on cold meds. He just didn't wake up when Dean moved him. At least, that's the best explanation I could come up with short of asking him what he remembered."

"That's a hell of a mindset to grow up with. Thinkin' you offed your own baby brother. Wonder if he ever thought that was why you hadn't found him yet."

"What?"

"I mean, if he thought he killed Sam, he probably thought you would be upset about that. After a while, he probably thought you weren't coming at all because you were mad about what happened to the baby."

"Shit." John murmured, recalling one of his first real conversations with his grown son.

He could still see the tears starting to form in Dean's eyes as he withheld the only things that gave his kid any comfort back then. The beads. 'My Dad gave 'em to me, okay? My real Dad.'

'Real dad, of the parents who abandoned you.' John had spoken the words as a way to dig deeper into the kid's head, to try to understand why he so desperately needed the chunky little beads back. Why he would trade his car or kill a man to regain possession of them.

That first tear out of Dean's eye was burned into John's memory, even if it was only around for a second before Dean dashed it away. 'He didn't abandon me!' Dean had shouted, putting John on high alert; luckily, Sam was already safely behind him at that point. 'I was taken. But he stopped looking. I know he did.'

The bottom dropped out of John's stomach just like it had a few days earlier, when the actual conversation took place. _Dean, I never- I would_ never _stop looking for you. You're my son for fuck's sake._ "I never thought about that."

"You need to let that boy know what he's worth, John. If all you're tellin' me is true, he's got a hell of a recovery up ahead."

"Believe me, the first thing out of my mouth when we find him is gonna be exactly what I need him to hear."

* * *

 _Oh, shut up. You've gone longer without food._ Dean chastised his growling belly as he strolled down the sidewalk near the epicenter of the city. He was doing his best to look inconspicuous, so of course the sling was tucked away in his back pocket. His arm didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. _Guess actual rest is kinda helpful with all that stuff._

It was some time after noon by then; Dean wasn't sure. He'd left his cell phone back at the house. Time didn't really matter when you had no schedule to cling to anyway. All he needed was to get out of Temple as quickly as possible and put as much space between himself and those hunters as he could before they started hunting _him._

Unfortunately, his first two attempts to steal a car were unsuccessful. The first car's alarm went off, scaring the daylights out of him and sending him sprinting for the nearest alleyway. The second was the newer kind that couldn't be jumped easily. He didn't spend long with that one; there were a few people in that parking lot and he didn't want to get ratted out. So he was making his way to the other side of town to find his third target and hopefully get on with his plan.

That is, if he could stop the constant pricking of his stupid eyes and get over the fact that, once again, the kindness he'd been shown was fake and was coming back to bite him. _How did I fall for their charade?_

'It'll be nice having you with us, Dean.' Sam had spoken those words after bouncing into Dean's hospital room, thrilled about the idea of going to school with him. 'You wouldn't be a burden, if that's what this is about. You haven't been any trouble yet and I don't think that'll change.'

 _Stop._

'You don't have to live like that again, dude.' Sam said that too, while they were walking to the library together. _Like brothers._ 'Dad doesn't go back on promises.'

 _Stop it. Like hell he doesn't. I've finally seen the light and boy does it burn._

'So I'm the only one you've done this for?' Dean remembered asking Sam the question that burned in his mind; he couldn't believe that so much effort was being poured into him and him alone. The Winchesters hadn't taken anyone else in. Dean was special.

 _I thought I was. Wrong, as always._

'It's always been just us. So yeah. Welcome to our screwed up family.'

"Please stop." Dean said aloud, stopping on the sidewalk and closing his eyes to try and drown out the vicious memories that only served to tear him apart. Because he knew he couldn't go back. Going back meant falling right into Winthrop's waiting hands. But the Winchesters were back there. Sammy was there. John, too. "They don't care about me." He growled at the sidewalk. "Move on."

A soft yelp escaped his throat as one of the many other commuters on the sidewalk pushed past him, colliding roughly with his bad shoulder. _Get over it. They never cared about me and I fell for every little trick they played. No wonder they're trying to hand me off; even_ I _can't stand myself._

 _Move on._

* * *

"Bobby, I can't lose him again. _Goddammit!_ " John slammed his hand against the wheel for the hundredth time that day. "Why the hell did you have to go and scare him?"

"Cool it, Winchester. We're on the same side here."

"I know, I just- he's in so much pain and he's still sick. He can't be out on his own tonight." John let an almighty sigh escape. "Here's to hopin' the PD does their job again."

"We'll find 'im, John. He can't have gotten far."

"It's been six hours. He could be two states over by now."

"Or he could be sittin' on a bench on Main Street hoping you drive by so he can hitch a ride home. John, he has all the information. It's just a matter of time before he pieces it all together."

"I don't think he'll let himself do that, Bobby. He's got this thing about trusting people. And if he really thinks you were there to take him back to Lucy and Winthrop, then there's no way he'll ever come back on his own. He's probably trying to get as far away as possible right now."

"Well, we're not gonna stop lookin' here until we know he left town, John. I won't make the same mistake twice." In the six hours since their search began, John told him almost everything that had transpired, nearly everything Dean had told them. Bobby himself had been there, on the attack Dean talked about. He had been the one to call it off; they lost two men and he was _sure_ Dean wasn't there. He left John's son behind, in the care of one of the most violent nests known in the hunting community.

And look where his false confidence got him. Look where it got _Dean._

Bobby looked up as they pulled into the driveway of the Winchester rental house.

"I just need to check on Sammy, make sure he got home from school okay, tell him what's going on. He'll probably want to come with us." John left the car running and hurried up the stairs, the rest of his keys in hand to get inside.

The door was ajar, and leaning slightly away from its hinge. The doorjamb was busted in.

John's heart nearly stopped. Then it was jumping out of his chest.

"Sammy?" John shoved the door open, his gun already in hand.

The room looked fine, aside from the bits of door and frame that lay splintered around the entrance. John left the door open, hoping Bobby would get the message and come after him.

Both bedrooms and the bathroom were empty. That left only the room containing the kitchen and living area to provide information as to what had transpired, and when. John stopped short when he stood before their little sitting area. The TV was smashed in, but that wasn't what made his blood run cold.

Sam's backpack was on the couch, a piece of one of the straps torn away and missing. Books and papers were scattered on the carpet, some with boot prints stomped into them.

And there was a book bag John didn't recognize. It wasn't Dean's- that one was still slumped in the hallway just outside the living room- and it certainly wasn't one of John's own bags. It was a tan book bag that looked well used. A small, gold, metallic feather charm hung off of one of the strap rings; had it not caught the light just right, John would've never seen it.

Adrenaline pounded in John's veins as he rushed into to the scene. Some of the papers on the floor had 'Sam Bennett' written on them.

Some had 'Castiel Novak' written on them.

"Dammit, Sammy." John breathed, panic making his brain feel a lot like the door that was smashed and splintered just a few feet away. _I told you not to bring friends home. Why did you-_

John was back in the Impala before Bobby even noticed the door was left open. "The hell got into you?"

"Sam's gone. He's been taken."

* * *

 **A/N: Uh-oh.**

 **Don't forget to follow/favorite! You'll get the next update on Monday...**


	30. The Show Must Go On

**A/N: Vivi here! Posting has been a pain today. This site doesn't like my good computer, so I booted up my ancient machine to get it done. Anyway, here you go! Also, I'm like _almost_ over my writer's block. Yay!**

 **Previous warnings apply.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John was back in the Impala before Bobby even noticed the door was left open. "The hell got into you?"_

 _"Sam's gone. He's been taken."_

* * *

"I'm tellin' ya, Oliver stole my headphones and they're right there, on the seat." Dean pointed through the window a car he'd just been trying to get into. There were headphones on the passenger side seat; that was the only reason he wasn't already in the back of the squad car that rolled up at the worst time. "I was just trying to get 'em back. Honest." _Honest my ass._

"Look, kid, you can't just break into a car because someone took your headphones, okay? Work it out with the guy, don't ruin the locks on his car." The officer took a step closer to Dean and it was all he could do not to move away. "Why don't we give Oliver a call and have him come down to the station to talk to you in person?"

 _There's your sign._ Dean spun around and took off, careful to put a few obstacles between himself and the officer so he wouldn't be tased again. _Cuz that's just what I need. Put me right back into John's waiting arms._

'Time to go home, son. I've got you.'

 _No, stop. I can't- not right now._

Dean could hear the officer and his partner- whom Dean had not previously seen- racing after him, yelling at him to stop. _Like I would ever stop for you._ He ducked into a short alley and sprinted out the other side, taking a right at the next street. The little coffee shop there was in the perfect place to fill his hiding needs.

He got in line to order something just as a small group of women came in. They effectively blocked his view of the street. Which meant that he was hidden from the officers he heard run past the storefront.

Dean found a ten dollar bill in his pocket and handed it over when his turn came. He froze when he realized where it came from.

'Don't buy drugs. That's for food.' He could see the joking smile on John's face as he gave him and Sam lunch money. The school gave them lunch for free that day, since they were taking tests and couldn't really go to the cafeteria without the risk of cheating. And Dean hadn't been back to actually buy lunch.

 _Thanks, Da- John. Dammit._ Dean drew his arm across his face and muttered something about allergies before the barista returned with his order.

Coffee in hand, Dean booked it- though he didn't run, that would be suspicious- for the other side of town. _Need to get out of here._

Sam's voice made him jump. 'Don't be scared. We're not going to hurt you. Me and Dad wouldn't do that to you, not ever.'

Dean whirled around, nearly spilling his coffee, to find a gross lack of Sam. There weren't even that many people on this street. None of the other phrases he'd heard so far sounded that real. Sounded like they weren't in his head. "I'm hearing things now. Great."

'Why don't you come on back to the house and get some rest, huh? Let me check you over and maybe get some medicine and food into you. We can talk about this tomorrow, when you feel better.' It was John's voice that time.

And Dean couldn't not let out a shaky breath as his eyes slid closed and despair gripped his heart. _Please?_

 _No, remember what happened. He- he was sending you…_ Dean took a deep breath and tried not to think for a while.

A while was apparently about an hour. He'd decided to switch tactics. Nabbing keys at a bar and finding the owner's ride was something he'd done in the past. It seemed to work pretty well.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The man in a suit snapped at Dean on his first attempt, shoving him away and sending him to the ground, where Dean struggled to ride out the pain in his back and shoulder after the impact. By the time he was able to actually hear again beyond the ringing in his ears, the man was right there, inches from his face. "…are the scum of the earth. You should be ashamed. Marley, call the cops. This guy tried to steal from me.

Dean tried to get up, only to have the man plant his foot right on Dean's chest and push the air out of him.

"You're not going anywhere, punk." The man sneered at Dean. He hadn't realized just how drunk the guy was. He tried to stay away from the really drunk ones; those were the fighters. Dean was already in some deep shit, and this was only his first try.

And he was gasping for breath. As much as Dean pushed with his good arm- his bad arm wouldn't help at all, so why try- he could gain no headway, couldn't catch even a small breath of air.

The ringing in his ears took over again, so he couldn't hear what the yelling woman was saying when she went up to the guy who was slowly pushing the life out of Dean.

As black fuzz started to surround his world, Dean saw the woman shove his captor, putting him off balance. There was just enough force left in his good arm to destabilize the man and free himself.

Dean was three blocks away before he heard the sirens. The video store seemed like a good enough place to catch his breath in relative secrecy.

'Easy, tiger. Just relax. You're safe now. You're safe with us.'

"Stop!" Dean shouted at the shelf of movies in front of him. With tear filled eyes, he realized he was in the family section.

He was out the door before the store clerk could find him.

* * *

"His phone is dead, too." John had tried Dean's phone hours ago; it rang, but no one picked up. He wasn't even sure if Dean had it. And his latest attempt to call Sam yielded only an overly pleasant computer telling him that his son could not be reached. The phone didn't even ring.

John wanted to puke.

"The boys in blue are after 'em just like we are, John. We've got all the eyes in the tri-county area lookin' for those kids." Bobby said from the passenger seat. His joints were starting to ache from all the miles they'd put in that day without a break, but it wasn't as bad as his conscious felt knowing that if he'd just listened to what John had to say, Dean wouldn't have run off and they all would've been home when Sam- and apparently his friend Castiel- got back from school. The whole screwed up family would've been there to fend off whoever or whatever took Sam and Castiel.

"Since when have the police ever been able to help me find my sons, Singer?"

"John, this ain't your fault, but it ain't the cops' fault either. You and I both thought Sam would be fine for half an hour after the bus dropped 'im off while we finished our sweep of the far side of town. A couple hours ago, Dean was the only one we thought was in any kind of danger; how in the hell would we have known somethin' would go after the house?"

John shook his head. Those weren't good excuses for what happened. Nothing would be a good enough excuse, especially if either of his boys turned up hurt or didn't turn up at all. "We should've split up, gone different directions."

"John, for the last time, you know why we didn't do that."

The father wanted to strangle something. Yes, he knew that they didn't split up because Dean would've seen Bobby's truck on his way out of the yard back at the house. If the kid were to spot the truck, which would likely happen long before Bobby saw Dean, he would bolt and be gone before the truck could come to a stop.

That, and if Bobby turned out to be the first to find Dean and actually lay hands on him, Dean would fight back with everything he had, thinking he was going to be returned to Lucy. John knew his son was strong; he took out a gang to protect Sammy, after all. But he also knew Bobby could do damage, and his oldest didn't need any more injuries. Not that Bobby would intentionally hurt Dean. John knew he would never hurt an innocent kid, no matter who they were. He might scare them, but never inflict damage. Unless the struggle turned out to be a bit more physical than anticipated and… accidents happened. One more good hit to the head could end Dean in an instant, and just a light tug in the wrong direction could pop his arm out of place again and tear a tendon or muscle.

So John had been the one to insist that Bobby ride with him in his car. At least if Dean saw the Impala or John, there was a _chance_ he'd stop and listen to what had to be said.

And John knew he wouldn't hurt his son.

Not even if his son hurt him.

But now both his sons were missing because he couldn't handle his oldest getting a few bruises while Bobby rounded him up. Two sets of eyes could cover twice the ground; maybe they would've found Dean and been home in time to get Sam off the bus and kill whatever broke into the house.

Sammy could have been protected if John hadn't allowed him to be alone at home for just a few minutes. _I'll never learn._

"I was wrong."

"Lotta good that's doin' us now."

* * *

Dean didn't have another episode for a few hours. By then, the sun had begun to fall behind the horizon; it had long since fallen behind the skyscrapers and apartment buildings of the city. The shivering teen had resolved to hole up in an alley next to an exhaust vent that was spewing warm, yet less than fresh air over him. _Homelessness must be a crime here. Haven't seen any other folks._ Dean pulled his canvas jacket closer around himself. _What I wouldn't give for my coat…_

 _It's not my coat. It's John's coat, he bought it. And it's not worth as much as my freedom. Ol' Pat was right; give me liberty or give me death._

 _But… if it has to be the latter, make it quick, please? I know I ruin every good thing that happens to me, but for once, could it be over quickly?_

A painful shiver worked its way down his spine, taking its good old time. Reluctantly, Dean pulled out his sling and relieved some of the ache in his arm. He'd decided to only wear it when he slept, and only if he felt like he was relatively safe in the place he chose to pass out.

 _Damn you, John, with your warm beds and your regular sleep schedule shit. Got me out of practice._ Dean had hoped to stay awake until he was at least two states away, but the soft buzzing in his head, combined with the not so soft aching all over his body, rendered that hope very unrealistic.

Dean just hoped that the police, John, Lucy, Winthrop, that guy who was yelling in the house, or… or Sam didn't find him before he skipped town. He could only imagine how those scenarios would play out. _Running or death. No in-between. This is the endgame, right here; either I get far enough away to never be found again, or I die._

 _Sounds about right._

* * *

"Bobby, we're never going to find them on foot." John shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to warm them up for the fourth time that night.

"Well, the police have the streets covered, and checkpoints on all the major roads out of town. That amber alert was a good idea, John. If any of 'em goes to one of those checkpoints, they'll be detained until you spring 'em. Probably have a couple of shook up teens on your hands by the end of the night. Kinda nice havin' some civilian back up, ain't it?"

"Those checkpoints are pointless. Whatever took Sam isn't going to leave on a highway, and even if it does, Sam and that other kid won't be visible. It's not stupid, Bobby. If it is what I think it is, we have to get Sam back before he's drained."

"You think it's-"

"The nest. Dean's nest. I'm almost positive."

"There was no warning or no activity nearby. No activity within a hundred and fifty miles, last I checked. You sure?"

"Ninety nine percent." By the time John figured out his latest theory, his blood was ice. What had been a slow sinking feeling quickly became the kind of fear that any parent experiences when their child is up against something that the parent _knows_ they won't be able to handle. Something that could take them away forever.

That wasn't the first time he'd felt like that. Not by a long shot. And he hated himself for it.

"How the hell did they-" Bobby stopped short when he saw John's accusing glare. The pair ground to a halt on the mostly deserted sidewalk. "Lucy."

"Y'know that head hancho, the one whose mate I killed twelve years ago in that raid?" John ignored Bobby's 'oh shit' look, knowing that there was nothing he could do about Bobby's mistake at that point. He'd already forced Bobby to stay close as they continued the search, knowing that the nest could pick them off easily if they were separate.

"Yeah…"

"Winthrop."

"The guy Lucy was talking about?"

"Well, Dean's been having nightmares; he screams for 'Winthrop' to stop and begs 'Daddy' to save him. He even told me some of what the fang did to him. And you scared the shit out of him when you brought up the name, so I'm assuming yes. That bastard had Dean for two whole years before a hunter saved him; I'm thinking it has something to do with Winthrop's mate. Some kind of sick revenge… Dean and Sammy are probably together somewhere by now." John continued walking, but turned when he heard hushed footsteps moving fast.

There, at the end of the alley they'd just passed, was a figure running full tilt away from them. It barreled out onto the next street, nearly falling at the sharp turn, and kept right on running.

It was wearing a sling.

John had never run so fast in his life. Running to Mary's scream in the nursery, sprinting to put himself between Sam and an angry shifter, rushing to a police station to identify a boy who turned out not to be his son- those came in close second. But half of John's reason for living was trying to get away and no way in hell would he let Dean go without putting up a hell of a fight.

 _Shit shit shit-_ Dean sprinted around the corner after waking up to a familiar voice, normally so comforting and calming for him, talking about two of his worst nightmares not twenty feet away.

He heard two sets of footsteps give chase.

There was nowhere for him to go. No stores were still open. The men were too close for him to shake by going down alleys and streets. Dean just hoped they would give up, or get too tired or something before he had to stop.

Because, Lord knows, running hurt his arm like an SOB, even in the sling.

 _Dammit._ Dean's ears started ringing again and he lost the sounds behind him. _Not good not good._

John knew something was wrong with his son because he was able to catch up in just a few minutes. As soon as he was three feet behind the kid, John lunged forward and took ahold of Dean's jacket at the elbow. He slowed, thinking that he could pull Dean safely to a stop.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket quickly, but lost his balance. That sidewalk came up real quick.

"Hey, hey, kiddo, calm down." John knelt beside his son, who had face-planted on the filthy concrete, and put a hand on his good shoulder. Dean was already trying to push himself up, but even on his hand and knees, he was shaking and swaying, his eyes slightly unfocused, his head filled with pain signals and high pitched noises. His almost collided with the brick wall next to him, but John gently pulled him away with plenty of time to spare, holding him steady as the kid let out quiet sounds- soft whimpers, quick gasps, almost inaudible groans- betraying his obvious pain. John had all of Dean's- and Sam's- medicines in his pocket, just in case. He was glad he thought to bring them; it had been way too long since Dean had any painkillers and he was past due for another set of antibiotics. The nurses had warned the entire family that if Dean didn't finish his regiment of pills, the pneumonia could come back much worse than it had been. John wanted to avoid that, if at all possible.

"It's me." _Don't tell me you hurt yourself bad again. Please say something. Dammit… The hospital is only a few blocks away, right? Where are we?_

The world was spinning and Dean wanted to throw up. He'd landed _hard_ on his bad arm, and when the other failed to make it up in time- it was still partially entrapped by his jacket and John's hand-, his head followed suit. If his ears were ringing before, they were fire-engine worthy now. And he was kicking himself for leaving his inhaler at the house; he could practically feel his airways protesting the cold night air. That and the fall were sending him into a daze; the spinning world didn't help his nausea one bit.

 _How long has he been wheezing like that?_ John wondered. Almost without thinking about it, he took the old inhaler, the one from the hospital, from his own coat pocket where it lived, and tucked it into Dean's jacket. As soon as the situation was deescalated, he would have the kid use it. For now, he was breathing well enough to cool down.

 _Gotta go. C'mon, work with me._ Dean tried to will his body into balance, but it just wasn't happening. He needed at least a few minutes before he could walk well again; this wasn't the first time this had happened on that day alone. Although, this was the first time he'd fallen. And the first time he couldn't catch his breath.

"You're safe. I've got you."

 _Not more of these._ Dean groaned, hearing John's reassuring voice in his head again. It was tearing him up that he had to keep hearing the Winchesters repeat their lies; the voices that once comforted and encouraged Dean were now breaking apart any mental stability he had left. _Maybe if I hit my head hard enough they'll go away._

Feeling himself slip towards tears once again, Dean angrily grabbed his jacket from where it had fallen to the ground when he hit the pavement. _Come on. Baby gonna cry? Cry about not-Daddy turning on you? Oh, boo hoo. Suck it up. Maybe if you don't think about it, all this shit will go away. It's not like he'll be able to find you in a couple hours anyway…_

 _But… if it's in my head, then what…_ Dean risked a glance over his shoulder, where he could have sworn a weight had settled. It wasn't in his head.

John held tight to Dean's shoulder when the kid lurched to his feet and tried to run. Good thing, too; Dean almost hit the pavement again. "Okay, tiger, take it down a few notches. You're safe."

"Then why don't I _feel_ safe?" Dean growled, trying to pull himself free from John's grasp.

"I'm your father. Your _real_ father."

Dean stopped struggling and looked up at John. He didn't know what he expected to see.

John met Dean's eyes, but didn't see what he expected. Instead of realization and relief, maybe even happiness, he saw raw panic and primal fear.

It was all John could do to hold tight with both his hands on Dean's good arm as his son tried to pull away. The terror in his eyes reminded John of a wild animal that was cornered. This wasn't what he expected to happen when he finally spilled the truth.

"Let me _go!_ " Dean shouted, his efforts to escape redoubled when he saw the guy from the house round the corner and jog toward them. _You were trying to corner me? Doesn't matter who you are, if you're sending me back to Winthrop you're as bad as he is._ He growled when he felt tears prick at his eyes. He didn't know what to think; John's claims had a lot of evidence behind them, but what if that evidence was fabricated? Stealthy lies to manipulate Dean's feelings? And even if he really _was_ Dean's real Dad, how could Dean live knowing that his own _father_ tried to send him back to hell?

No, it was better to believe that John was lying and that Dad was still out there, searching for his lost little trooper.

 _Better safe than sorry. Better safe far from the Winchesters._

"Dean, stop-"

A solid foot connected with John's shin, loosening his grip just enough for Dean to slip through his fingers. "Dean!" John shouted and took chase once more.

He was right. When he tried hard enough, his son could outrun him, even in a sling with a jacket fisted in one hand.

"No." John breathed as he came to a stop near a traffic light a few minutes later. There was no one on the roads, no one on the sidewalks. It felt like a ghost town. It felt like John's throat was closing. " _Dean._ "

John's boys were gone.

He was reliving a nightmare.

* * *

 _Can't breathe._ Dean collapsed into a deep doorway to some sandwich shop, hoping that it would be enough cover to go unnoticed until he could catch his breath and keep going. He was pretty sure he lost John a couple blocks back, but the man was determined. If Dean stayed put for too long, he'd be found.

A shiver ran down his spine, and it wasn't just from the cold. _He- he's here and he doesn't love me. He came back for me just to pawn me off. To send me back to the same vampire who took me from him._ A big, fat drop of water was smeared across his face by his arm, which was unpleasantly cold against his reddened cheeks. _When did I start believing him? I- I wasn't gonna let myself think he was really my Dad._

 _Who am I kidding? I believed him the moment he said it. Why wouldn't I? His story matches mine to the last detail. He's told me things about my past that I've never said out loud before._ Dean let his head fall back against the block wall behind him, his eyes sliding shut as more saltwater ran down his face. _All these years, I thought… I hoped he was coming. And now he has. He's here._

 _And he doesn't love me._

He started to panic when the sobs began to leak out; if he hadn't been able to breathe before, he was suffocating now. _Better this than living with Winthrop, any day._

Dean tried to sit straighter against the wall, hoping that would open his airways at least a little. He wished he had the forethought to bring his inhaler with him, but like the coat, it belonged to John. John paid for those things. Dean had no right to take them.

As he pushed himself up, his hand came down his jacket and was met with something hard. It was too big to be his beads and he hadn't taken anything else. At least he thought. _Did I steal from them? What did I… Is that why they're chasing me?_

Within seconds, Dean pulled the object out of the folds of his jacket.

He was dumbfounded.

 _My- my inhaler?_ He wasted no time in using it, wondering briefly if it had been tampered with. Once he could breathe a little better, Dean stared down at the object in his hand.

 _This isn't mine; it's not cracked. It- wait. This is the one from the hospital. My first one. How the hell did it get in my pocket? I haven't seen it since we- since_ I _left Orem. It wasn't in my pocket last night at the station; the cops would've taken it. I would've seen it. So… so where…?_

 _John…?_

 _He was the only one who had access to my jacket last night. But I've had my hand in that pocket all day; there's no way it could've been there when I left._

Dean ran through one scenario after another trying to figure out how the old device got into his pocket. The only one that made any sense was utterly baffling. _John put it in the jacket when I fell, or when he was restraining me. But that doesn't make sense. If I can't breathe, I can't run from them, so why would he give me my medicine? And why would he put it in my jacket in the first place? He could've used it as bait to get me close enough for that guy to sneak up and grab me while my ears rang._

 _He doesn't care about me, so why would he help me?_

 _He doesn't love about me._

 _He… he doesn't…_

Dean hunched in on himself, his head on his knees, the jacket flung haphazardly on his back to stave off the bitter wind that swept past him. He had to take a few seconds to focus on breathing or he'd have a panic attack.

 _What if he_ wants _to help me? What if he wants me to stay with him and Sam?_

 _But then why would he let that guy into the house to take me away?_

 _Why would he hold that guy back when he came for me in the hall?_

 _Why would he bring that guy along on the hunt for me if he wasn't trying to capture me?_

 _Why would he tell me I'm safe while he's trying to get rid of me_ again _?_

 _Why would he give me my inhaler when he knows it'll help me get away from him?_

 _They don't care about me. I can't get my hopes up again. I won't survive another crash._ Dean pulled himself up with the doorknob of the sandwich shop and slid his good arm into his jacket, returning the inhaler to his pocket. The other side of the jacket was pulled tight over his bad shoulder to hide the sling and the fact that he only had one properly functioning arm.

 _I've done this before and I can do it again._ He peered out of the doorway to make sure there wasn't a classic car or a burly shadow nearby. Dean was a block over from the little shop in no time, a firm decision burning its way into his mind. _I'll do anything to get away from Winthrop and Lucy and… and John._

 _Anything._

* * *

 **A/N: I wish I could post so much more every week. I know how frustrating it is to have to wait, but I can't write that fast. Not while I'm _(still)_ in school. Anyway, leave me some words! I love hearing from you!**


	31. You're 17, Handsome, and Mine

**A/N: Vivi here! Another nightmare getting the formatting to carry over when I uploaded this without code wiggling its way into the story. This is attempt... oh, gosh. Seven, I think? I finally got it to work. Ug.**

 **Anyway, sorry for the late post. It's exam week. Go figure.**

 **Don't forget to let me know what you think in the review box at the bottom of the screen. (Guests can comment too!)**

 **Previous warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

I've done this before and I can do it again. _He peered out of the doorway to make sure there wasn't a classic car or a burly shadow nearby. Dean was a block over from the little shop in no time, a firm decision burning its way into his mind._ I'll do anything to get away from Winthrop and Lucy and… and John.

Anything.

* * *

John wanted to get drunk.

He wanted to drown his sorrows in the highest proof he could find and black out. And then wake up to both his boys safe and sound in their bunk beds, sleeping the day away like good little teenagers.

But he knew that was a fever dream. Incapacitating himself like that would only hurt his kids. What if the police found Sam and that other guy and John could barely walk? Or what if he and Bobby found Dean but John was too sloshed to catch him again?

So John's blood alcohol level stayed at a steady zero the whole night long.

He wanted to punch the sun when it started to rise; didn't it know what was happening? How could warmth and light fill the world when John's boys were in the wind and very possibly in mortal danger?

 _I'm coming, boys._

* * *

Dean felt himself start to fall. That was what brought consciousness back to him.

But what woke him up was the foot burying itself in his right flank. He almost passed out.

"Get a job, lazy ass."

With blurred vision, Dean watched the older man walk away from the park bench that was last night's bed. He had to wait out the worst of the waves of radiating pain before he could even sit up.

The night had not been kind. In the short time he was with the Winchesters, Dean had forgotten just how shitty it felt to be homeless. His pain medication had worn off hours ago and it felt like every nerve in his body was trying to remind him of that fact. The cuts on his head throbbed, the bruise on his back stung and burned every time he moved no matter how he moved, the taser punctures pulsed with every beat of his heart, his shoulder ached worse than usual, and there was a pain in his side. No, not just a pain. The fall from the bench and the kick brought that pain from a three or four out of ten to an eight. It pulsed and burned and stabbed worse than all of his other injuries combined. It took his breath away and made him want to throw up.

When he could stand- about five minutes of carefully controlled breathing later- his first stop was the park's public restroom.

"Shit." Dean groaned, looking down once he finished relieving the pressure that he thought was the source of his nausea.

There was red in the urinal. A lot of red. A lot more than what John said was probably just one of those things you should watch. " _Shit._ " _What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't go to the hospital because John probably has hunters after me, or police, or something. That's one of the first places they'll look every day. They might even have somebody watching the ER. Guess my best bet is to get out of town ASAP and find a hospital a couple hours away; this is so not a 'wait and watch' thing. Dammit…_

He nearly doubled as a particularly angry wave of fire ripped around his side.

While he didn't double, he _did_ lose his calories and inadvertently splash his own bloody urine out of the porcelain bowl.

"Fuck."

"Okay, dude, swear all you want, but please get out of the bathroom. There are people besides you who need it."

 _Hope you enjoy the sights and smells of the lovely Temple City Park bathroom. Got it all warmed up for ya._ The skinny man, a few years older than Dean and wearing athletic gear, almost rushed past Dean as he hobbled out of the little building. With his side feeling only marginally better, Dean trudged out of the park. He was out of sight, behind a row of neatly maintained hedges, when he heard the man yell.

"Hey, has anyone seen that guy who was in here before me? Kinda tall, canvas jacket? I think he needs help."

Dean was a few streets over in no time, trying to convince himself that he could ignore the heat burning a hole in his guts. _Just gotta find a car… who am I kidding? I can't drive, not like this. Gotta find somebody headed out of town and hitch a ride. Say I'm going home, back to my family, cuz- cuz… I ran away._ The heat from his side must've migrated up, because his face was getting hot and his eyes were starting to sweat. At least that's what he told himself for the first few minutes.

By the time the first devastated sob got out, Dean was barely able to walk, gasping for breath, and trying to decide if he should keep going or not. _I wanna go home. I want Sammy. I want Dad._

'Let's get you home.'

 _Please…_ Dean really hoped that the passersby would ignore the kid having a breakdown in the alley beside the antique store. No matter how loud he cried.

* * *

"John, you gotta eat somethin'. You're no good to your boys if you pass out on us." Bobby was already halfway through a fast food burger when he finally decided enough was enough. "Starvin' yourself won't help anyone."

"I don't have time for that. I can't let any distractions get in the way." John had already been driving through the city for most of the morning and afternoon. Bobby had forced him to take a two hour shuteye in the backseat while he took over the search, but that was hours ago already.

"Passin' out's a pretty big distraction." Bobby muttered to his food, taking a large bite.

He nearly choked as John swerved up to the curb and slammed on his brakes. The car came to a screeching halt and John was out the door before Bobby could even swallow.

"Dean?" John yelled, shoving pedestrians out of the way as soon as he hit the sidewalk. He was sure he'd just seen his son; the same hair, the same jacket- it had to be him. "Dean?"

Being a tall man with a booming voice had helped John in the past, and it didn't fail him in the present. There, standing on the corner of the intersection waiting to cross the next street, was his oldest, his little trooper. The kid was looking small and stiff as he stood hunched with his good arm white knuckling his right flank. _No, kiddo. What happened?_ " _Dean_!" _Don't move, I'm coming to you. Just don't move._

Dean turned at his name and searched the crowd behind him. _That didn't feel like… like it came from my head. Is he actually here?_ There were so many people out that afternoon; Dean wasn't sure if it had been someone calling to a different Dean or… or Dad yelling for him.

Dean met John's eyes even as the man pushed and jostled his way closer to his son in the sea of commuters. _He's here. He's really here._ Had Dean possessed the energy or strength to call back to John, he would've relayed what had happened as soon as possible; maybe if John believed that he was as sick as he actually felt, he'd take Dean to the hospital and not hand him over right away.

If he had ever planned on sending Dean away at all. Dean still wasn't sure.

And he knew that if he waited much longer to seek medical help, he would never find out.

 _He isn't running._ John realized, an inkling of hope finally returning to his heart. That hope started to fade when he saw the crossing light blink on, prompting the sea of people to move into the street. But Dean didn't move.

Until John got close enough to see that yes, he _was_ moving. He looked like he was trying not to be sick, struggling to stay upright while being nudged and tossed by the crowd. His left hand still had his flank in a death grip and John could just make out small spots of blood dotted on his jacket. Dean's eyes blinked hard every few seconds, like he was trying not to cry, or maybe trying to get them to focus. Or trying not to pass out.

 _Why is he so pale? Whose blood is that?_

John growled; he was still so far away. _Shouldn't have stopped until I was closer to the light._ Dean wasn't running yet, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't.

His son just kept watching him with sad eyes that faded in and out of focus and drifted every few seconds. _What's wrong with you? You never look like that; where's the fight? Where's my son? What happened to you?_

John didn't stop to apologize for knocking some guy's briefcase out of his hand by accident.

The crossing light blinked back to red, causing a throng of frustrated city-goers to pool around Dean once more. They inadvertently pushed him close to the curb; not close enough to fall off the curb directly, but too close for John's liking. If Dean got sick or passed out, he could fall into traffic and be killed in front of hundreds of people. Including his own father.

John wasn't sure he'd survive that.

As if his nerves weren't frayed enough, the second John was twenty feet from Dean, a car honked its horn.

A van was stopped at the intersection, at a green light.

Five feet from Dean.

"No no no, that's my son! Stop him, that's my _son!_ " John shouted louder than he ever had before, but it did no good. He watched in agonizing slow motion as the side of the van slid open. A man jumped out and clapped his arms around Dean's waist, surprising him from behind. Dean cried out, his face contorted in pain as the man lifted him and roughly tossed him into the vehicle. Kid didn't even have time to struggle.

Bystanders were staring and starting to yell; some were even trying to stop the man. But the door was shut and the van was gone within seconds, the bitter smell of burnt rubber being the only indication that it was ever there at all.

John finally made it to the curb, his whole body numb, and a sickening tension growing in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't been able to see the license plate and upon questioning, no one around him seemed to have caught it either.

Dean had been kidnapped.

Again.

But that wasn't even the worse part.

In the split second that the interior of the vehicle was visible, John made a horrifying discovery.

Sam was in there.

* * *

Dean couldn't breathe. Not through pain like that. It was all he could do not to throw up.

He didn't even know what was going on until he was flipped onto his belly and his sling was cut off. Both his hands were bound behind him, torqueing his shoulder into the most painful position it had been in since he hit the tree.

"Won't they be pleased when they find out who joined the party? It must be my lucky day."

Dean froze as the voice speared its way into his memory and dragged itself back out. Visions of suffering and pain and terror flooded his mind until he forced them back and tried to take inventory. Pain was a given; he wasn't even going to acknowledge it at that point.

He was lying face down on what felt like corrugated steel. It was dark; no windows or sources of light beyond something very dim behind him. His hands were bound tightly with zip ties; then his legs were, too. Everything was moving and vibrating; it had to be a car, or a truck. The area smelled of exhaust and metal, with a bitter edge of some very human odors mixed in.

Turning his head to the other side, Dean felt every hair he had stand on end.

He wasn't alone. A dark haired boy- the same one from the laundromat, he realized- was slumped in the corner, looking half dead and totally unconscious.

Dean could handle being kidnapped and seeing the pain that came with the territory. Hell, he'd rescued a few victims almost every time he himself was taken off the street by some thug. Mostly younger kids like himself who had been beaten, used, and starved, looking not unlike the kid in the corner by the time Dean got them out.

He could handle blood, guts, abuse, torture, illness, pain-

But the one thing in the entire world that he realized he couldn't handle was sitting right in front of him.

Sammy was bound, gagged, and leaning against the side wall. He looked like someone had put him in a duffel bag and rolled him down a rocky hill; there were bruises on his arms, he had a black eye, and-

And two punctures in his neck.

And he wasn't moving.

"Squirt." Dean barked loudly, not wanting to use Sam's name if their captor didn't know it yet. "Bitch!" He shouted. If he didn't see Sam wake up sometime soon, he was going to have a much bigger problem than he already had.

Dean wasn't sure if people could be brought back from Hell, or if monsters even went to Hell, but he would annihilate whoever hurt his kid. Over. And over. And over. Until the piece of shit was sorry he'd ever been born. And then a few hundred more times, each death more painful than the last, until there was nothing left. No body, no soul, no existence left for the dead man. And then he'd find a way to bring him back one more time just to kill his entire bloodline in front of him. Innocents be damned; if Sam didn't wake up, Dean had no reason to have a conscience. No reason to live at all, really.

Dean had hoped that by leaving when he did, Sam would be spared the violence he knew would come with Winthrop. If he left, maybe Winthrop would try to follow him and leave the Winchesters alone. And if not, he hoped John would be strong enough to protect Sammy; hell, even if that other guy kept Sam safe, Dean could never repay him, no matter what he tried to do to Dean.

As long as Sam was alive, Dean had to stay alive, too. He couldn't let himself bleed out into his own bladder. Not yet. At least not until he could get Sam back in that Impala with his father.

 _With…_ our _father?_

His tactic worked; he wasn't sure if it was the swearing or the volume that did it, but Sam came around, blinking like crazy before his eyes finally focused on Dean. "It's me, bud. I'm gonna get you outta-"

A thick piece of cloth was shoved in his mouth and tied behind his head. Dean was rolled over, wincing as his body weight nearly tore his arm out of the joint again. Luckily, the pain in his flank took a bit longer to register, so he only had to swim through the world of pain, ringing ears, and blurred vision for a few seconds.

When the world came back into focus, he saw exactly what he expected to see. There was Lucy, visible through a bright slit in a sliding door between the cab and storage area. She was the driver.

He didn't have to look to see who was in the back with the rest of them.

"Aren't you happy to see me, little one?" The figure kneeling over Dean grinned and pinched his cheek. "Look how big you've gotten."

Dean violently shook his head away from the touch and growled, trying to turn over again without damaging his arm or bumping his side, which would probably make him black out.

The man gripped both of Dean's shoulders, digging his fingertips into the tender flesh to hold him down. He smiled even wider as he realized he could make Dean scream if he pressed hard enough. "I waited so long to meet your baby brothers."

Dean tried to shout something along the lines of 'stay away from him' but the noises that made it past the gag were indistinguishable. He risked a glance at Sam, who looked scared and confused. _Baby brothers? But John didn't mention anybody else…_

"Oh, how I've missed you, Win."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry it's so short. You'll probably get another chapter before next Monday...**

 **Leave me words! How is my writing compared to other works you've read? I'd love to know; it's hard for me to gauge that on my own and your help is greatly appreciated.**

 **See you soon...**


	32. Wherever I May Roam

**A/N: Vivi here! Here's your extra chapter, as promised. Sorry it's really late in the week and not midweek like I meant it to be. Oops.**

 **Hope you're enjoying the twisted plot. It'll make sense eventually, I promise!**

 **Previous warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Dean tried to shout something along the lines of 'stay away from him' but the noises that made it past the gag were indistinguishable. He risked a glance at Sam, who looked scared and confused._ Baby brothers? But John didn't mention anybody else…

 _"Oh, how I've missed you, Win."_

* * *

Bobby had to talk John down from using… dangerous means to find his boys. The father had grown more and more desperate as their attempts to follow, then locate the van were unsuccessful. By the time the sun fell below the horizon, John was more than ready to find a crossroad.

He learned about crossroads demons a few years after Dean went missing; it was so tempting to use that as a way to locate his oldest son but… Sam wouldn't have been older than fifteen when John's time was up and no matter how much he wanted to find Dean, Dad just couldn't abandon his littlest like that. John's own father had run out on him and his mother when he was very young. He didn't want Sam to be more alone than he had ever been; without mother _or_ father.

Sammy relied on Dad. Sammy had to come first.

But now Sam was missing, too. Both of his boys were _gone_. And they were old enough to live on their own when John's time was up. With any luck, his baby would be in college and his oldest would have a steady job somewhere nearby to keep an eye on that little spitfire by the time the hellhounds came howling.

John's grip on the Impala's steering wheel would probably leave divots in the firm rubbery surface.

"No."

"Bobby, you have no right to stop me from saving my kids."

"Your kids need a father, John. They're gonna be pissed if you go and sell your soul."

"They're not gonna be _anything_ if we don't find them in time."

"The police call you back yet?"

"No."

"We'll find 'em. And if we don't get a lead soon… I'll go find a crossroad while you keep lookin'."

John looked over at Bobby. "How is that going to help? I need to _be_ there to make the deal, Bobby."

"Your boys need you."

There was a long pause. "What are you trying to say, Singer?"

"I'm saying your boys need you _alive_. You know I love that kid like he's my own, John, and if I can help that other one, I'm gonna. Lord knows how many times I've tried to convince you to stop lookin' for him while he was sufferin'. No one depends on me like those boys do you; you bet your ass if I can stop your messed up little family from breaking apart, I will."

John didn't know what to say. He was dumbstruck.

"All this is my fault, anyway. I told Lucy where to find you three and that took the vampire straight to Sam. And you said Dean was bloody when you saw 'im, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't know whose blood." John said flatly. He was desperately hoping that it wasn't Dean's blood, because if it was, that meant his son was hurt bad and John could've prevented it. But he was eighty percent sure that all the red on his kid's canvas jacket _was_ his son's.

John was starting to think that maybe his boys would be better off living with Bobby. There was no way a halfway decent father could end up in a situation like this.

"Well, that fang found him pretty fast. I'm sorry, John, but that was Dean's own blood on his jacket. Had to be; there's no other way Winthrop could've gotten to him before us unless it was pure luck. Somethin' happened last night, somethin' that might have nothin' to do with vampires or housewives." Bobby sighed. "Can't imagine a kid growin' up like that. I'm not surprised you tried to hide him from me. It's just like you to shield your kid- kids, now- and put 'em in a bubble until you know they're safe."

"I wasn't always like that." John's voice was quiet. He knew exactly who was to blame for the abduction of his sons, and it wasn't Bobby or some random vampire.

"We all make mistakes, John."

"My mistake might cost my kids their _lives_. It's already warped one nearly beyond recognition. Bobby, if the vampire hurts Sam like he hurt Dean, I could lose my baby even if we find them." The tension and anxiety in John's voice was unnerving even to the seasoned hunter beside him.

"We'll find 'em." Bobby could only hope that they would reunite the Winchester clan with three solid pieces.

"I can't ask you to sell your soul for me. That's my burden."

Bobby scoffed and looked to John. "I ain't sellin' it for _you_."

* * *

It felt like torture.

Winthrop sat in the cabin of the truck most of the time, barking directions at Lucy who readily complied without putting up a fuss; Dean had never seen her so submissive. He'd seen Winthrop far more threatening, though, and that was what made him nervous. Winthrop wasn't a benevolent dictator. He wasn't merciful or patient or forgiving. Dean had seen many more than a few beings annihilated because they displeased Winthrop; in all honesty, Dean was amazed he lasted as long as he did under Winthrop's 'care'. The only reason he was still alive was because the fang wanted something else more than he wanted to end the young Winchester.

Dean struggled against his ties whenever he had the energy to do so. The puncture marks on Sammy's neck stood out like beacons on his now pale skin; they didn't have much time. _He got to Sam already._ Never mind that Dean himself got a set to match just minutes after being tied down. That didn't matter. The clock was ticking and _Sam's life was on the line._

 _Sam's tough. He'll be able to recover from all this, as long as Winthrop hasn't let Lucy touch him. And so help her if she touched him at all._ From what Dean could tell in the blurry darkness of the swiftly moving truck, Sam was okay. Granted, he was seizing every few minutes, he had bruises, and Winthrop bit him already, but he looked like he could run if given the chance. So did that other guy. At least when he was noticeably awake. Both of those things gave Dean hope; as long as those two could run, they could make it out. What happened to Dean didn't really matter; he'd made his peace with death, so long as Sam was safe. John would protect Sam as soon as they were together again. Dean couldn't figure out how Winthrop and Lucy had gotten Sam and the other guy in the first place, though. Sam was John's top priority; how did he slip through the cracks?

It didn't matter. Sam needed John and Dean knew John was more than capable of protecting and caring for Sam under most circumstances. This incident had just been a one time mistake; he was sure. He had to be sure. There would be no one else for Sam to rely on once Dean got them out of Winthrop's hands. Dean fully anticipated dying in the next twenty four hours.

He could barely breathe. And it wasn't just because the gag was blocking a lot of his mouth. Taking a big lungful sent fire and brimstone raining down in his right flank; the pain had slowly but steadily grown since he was thrown so roughly into the truck. It was a nine out of ten and he was having trouble staying awake when they hit potholes or he leaned over too far during a turn. He'd already passed out twice and woke to Sam frantically kicking at his legs.

Dean knew he was dying. He was bleeding somewhere inside and along with the burning and the nausea and the dry heaves and the pain in his bladder and the dizziness heightened by Winthrop taking a good long sip, Dean could feel himself getting weaker. Even though he wasn't visibly bleeding, his blood was leaving his veins and he was, in effect, bleeding out.

As long as he could get Sam and that kid out and not die in front of Sam, it didn't matter to Dean what happened. With the one condition that he didn't have to live with Lucy or Winthrop ever again.

What _did_ matter, however, at the very moment Winthrop left them- after biting Dean and talking a lot more, most of which Dean didn't remember because he was just trying to stay conscious- was analyzing Sam's every movement. He was leaning against the side of the truck, barely awake, hands bound behind his back, legs straight out in front of him, his bound ankles touching Dean's when Dean took on the same position. _If she touched him, he'd have his knees up. He'd be guarding, or flinching when we run over potholes. He's okay; she hasn't been able to get him alone yet. And she never will. Period._

* * *

It was hours.

It was agony. By the time the truck squealed to a stop and shut off, Dean could barely keep his eyes open and Sam had to constantly knock his feet into Dean's to keep him from passing out. Sam knew just by Dean's posture and body language that if he passed out, he might not wake up. Needless to say, Sam was scared shitless. Vampires, kidnappings, violence he could handle. But if Dean died and there was nothing Sam could do to stop it… he would never be able to forgive himself.

He still couldn't get over the fact that he stalled Dean's rescue from the wendigo.

What would losing Dean do to him? Sam didn't want to think about it. He wouldn't lose Dean. Even if Dean had to lose him.

All three captives flinched away from the cabin door as it was flung open to reveal an eerie silhouette of a tall, lean man. "Oh my Winchesters, aren't you a sight?" The man walked in and kicked lightly at Dean's foot. "I hope you don't mind a short pit stop. You won't be going anywhere, but the female needed a few… amenities, food and the like. And Win, you'll be pleased to hear that a very good friend of ours has finally caught up with us and will be joining us for the remainder of our little journey. I'm sure you've missed him, Win; he's certainly missed you. Take a good long rest now, why don't you? Perhaps if the three of you behave, you'll get a bite of food tomorrow. And worry not, children; Daddy will be joining you shortly."

Sam's eyes grew wide and he looked between Winthrop and Dean, clearly unnerved and mildly terrified.

"You'll behave for me while I'm gone, won't you, children? I'm sure you want to see our companion as much as Win does. Sit tight while I have a little chat with him; we have some things to discuss that little ears shouldn't hear. Be good. Keep them in line, Win." With a wicked smile, Winthrop sidled back out to the cabin and slid the door shut. The lock landed with a less than reassuring click.

Dean waited ten minutes before doing anything; he remembered how, in the beginning, Winthrop would tie him down and come back just a few minutes later, when he said he would be gone for a long time, to catch Dean 'misbehaving'. That didn't stop Dean from trying to escape, but he was more careful and discreet about it after the first few punishments.

If his estimations, based on what he went through ten years ago, were correct, the trio had about twenty five minutes before Winthrop would return. Lucy was a wildcard, though. If it came down to it, Dean would distract her and make that other kid take Sam somewhere safe. He didn't want another situation like what happened with the gang to transpire; Sam was selfless, but he was also bull-headed. And hopefully not as strong as what's-his-face in the corner.

When Winthrop didn't make an encore appearance, Dean put to action the plan he'd worked on since he could think straight in the truck.

Sam cringed and yelled into this gag as Dean used his good arm to pull his bad arm far to the left behind his back and give it a good strong yank. Dean was glad to have the cloth in his mouth at that point; his cries were muffled and he didn't crack any teeth when his arm finally tore loose from the socket like it had when he hit that tree in the woods. It was surprisingly easy to wrench it loose a second time. Once the fire lessened a bit and he could think again, Dean remembered to breathe. _Dammit… Guess John was right about keeping the sling on. Thanks, Pops, but it's my arm and I'll use it however is necessary to keep that kid safe. You can't be mad about it. You'd do the same._

With the extra length allowed by his newly free-floating arm, Dean was able to wiggle his arms around his body and past his legs so that his hands were in front of him. It was a painstakingly slow process; emphasis on _pain_. The first thing Dean did was tear off his own gag.

"Shut up, Sam." He hissed, his voice nearly inaudible. Vampires had incredible hearing and Dean didn't know where Winthrop was. Sam's fussing could ruin their escape attempt.

Once Sam stopped trying to yell and resolved to stare at Dean's now numb arm, Dean tightened the zip tie around his wrists as tight as he could. He took one deep breath and steeled himself for a world of hurt.

It had to be done. Dean was never going to be an only child again.

With his left arm taking almost all of the weight of his right, Dean raised his wrists high above his head- barely thinking through the fiery damage he could _feel_ in his shoulder- and slammed them down on his left flank. It was a trick he'd learned early during his time away from his family.

The tie snapped on the first try, which was good, because he woke up on the floor with Sam kicking his legs again.

"Sorry." Dean breathed as he pushed himself upright once more. As the fog slowly dissipated from his mind, he began the next step of his plan: find something sharp. "Sam, do you have anything I can cut the ties with?"

Sam shook his head. Dean didn't have the energy just yet to free his brother's mouth without passing out again. "What about you?" He nodded to the other kid, who was awake and watching Dean with horror in his eyes. He shook his head.

"You guys are useless." Dean panted as he looked around. He patted down his pockets but knew he wouldn't find a knife; his pocketknife belonged to John and was left at the house.

 _You rock, Dad._ A mile-wide grin spread on Dean's face as he found his inhaler.

He promptly removed the cartridge with his teeth and smashed the casing, producing three good, sharp pieces of plastic. As long as he didn't have an asthma attack before Sam and No Name were in the clear, he'd be fine.

The zip tie around his ankles was gone in under a minute. With a barely concealed groan, Dean maneuvered himself onto his knees. It was almost comical how his bad arm just dangled below its socket, numb and lifeless. Dean couldn't move it anymore, even if he tried, and he supposed that was just as well. It was basically a lost cause by that point. Not like he'd need it after today anyway.

What did it matter if his shoulder was intact when he finally lost enough blood to die? At least he could do one good thing with his last few hours: save Sam's life. And he would try to save whoever that other guy was, too, even though Dean was _sure_ he wasn't their brother. The kid was younger than he, but older than Sam, and Dean _knew_ Dad wouldn't have hurt Mom like that. Daddy loved Mommy. He loved her long after she passed away, too. This kid was much older than that.

And Dean didn't have time to figure out what the hell was going on with the whole 'baby brothers' thing. There would be time for Sam to work that out later; Dean just had to get them out alive. Nobody deserved to suffer under Winthrop. Well, maybe Lucy…

With Sam scooted away from the side of the truck, Dean painstakingly severed his wrist restraints. He had to hold Sam upright when the kid seized, though. That took up a few valuable seconds of escape time that was ticking down as they worked. And… the effort may have given Dean a long dizzy spell. He was starting to feel the burning pressure grow in his abdomen and keeping Sam off the floor wasn't easy on him.

It only took three seconds for Sam to get his gag off and start asking questions when he was free. "Dean, what the hell were you thinking? Do you not want two working arms anymore? And why are you so pale? Why do you keep passing out? How did-"

Dean held up the piece of plastic he used to free Sam's hands. Sam got the message.

While Sam was busy freeing his ankles and then the other kid's restraints, Dean was sitting again, leaning his back against the wall of the truck, trying not to pass out or puke or experience a combination of the two.

"Dean, what's wrong with you?" Sam hissed. He was suddenly right in Dean's face, looking all kinds of worried. Last Dean knew, he was still swearing quietly as he freed Mystery Boy.

"Nothin' you need to worry about, bitch." Dean shot him a shit-eating grin and adjusted himself so that he sat straighter against the wall. Sam just rolled his eyes and was unconvinced. "Gotta pick that lock. Any ideas?" Dean motioned to the cabin door.

Sam looked at it and kicked it lightly. "I'll try some things. By the way, I like bitch better than squirt. Well, I like _anything_ better than squirt."

"Noted." Dean watched as Sam sized up the flimsy looking door.

He tried to open it with blunt force. It was, indeed, locked up tight.

Dean turned to watch the other kid, the dark haired one, who was now standing nervously in the corner, wringing his freed hands. "Who are you?" Dean asked bluntly.

"Castiel Novak." He said quietly, his voice shaking a bit.

"He's my friend from school. The one from gym, remember?" Sam said as he took a flying leap at the door, trying to kick it down. Unsurprisingly, that didn't work.

Dean smiled at Castiel, hoping that would calm him down to a workable level. Nerves like that were no help at all in situations like this. Sam and Dean showed no visible signs of victim-ness; no keeping eyes down, chattering teeth, shaking hands, huddling in on themselves, giving up. There wasn't time for that. There never was. "I'm gonna call you Cas. I don't got a lot of breath anymore, y'know? What do you have on you?"

"You mean clothes, or-"

"Things, Cas. Like knives or pins or keychains. Something metal." Sam carefully inspected the door's sliding track. It was installed very well and did not budge one millimeter. Sam didn't even notice when he seized during his inspection; Dean did though.

Sam hardly ever noticed when he seized unless something happened while he was out. Like falling in the woods, getting soap in his eyes, missing parts of conversation, or having a person jump from one place in his field of view to another in a spilt second. Well, a split _waking_ second.

 _It's getting worse than it was before. They're starting to happen more and that can't be a good thing._ Dean frowned, wondering just how long it had been since Sam had his etho. _How long has Winthrop had him? If he's seizing this much already…_

"I have a pen. That man took my wallet."

Snapped from his thoughts, Dean looked to their new companion. "Screw your wallet. Gimme the pen." He demanded roughly, holding his good hand out. When Cas hesitated, a look of apprehension and nervousness in his eyes, Dean nearly growled. "Time is kinda a factor here, Cas."

Cas handed the pen to Dean and stayed near the front of the truck, anxiously watching Sam while also keeping his distance from Dean, who was turning out to be much more of a character than Sam made him out to be. It made Cas uneasy; if this were school, Dean would have been the kind of person he would avoid at all costs. Not because he wasn't nice, but because of the intimidating way he looked. Like he'd lived a lot longer than any other kid in class. Like his edges were frayed and torn in places, not rounded and safe like everyone else. Like he was irreparably damaged and he _knew_ it.

Cas tried not to panic. The man who bit them seemed to know Dean. What if _he_ was why Dean looked the way he did? No way did Cas want that to happen to him or Sam, but gauging by the way Sam's brother could barely move, he didn't think Dean should be exposed to the thing again either. Period. Even if he'd already survived him once.

Well, Cas hoped it was only once. Once was more than enough for anyone.

"Here." Sam noticed Dean struggling to open the pen with one hand and dropped to his knees, wincing when he was reminded that there were bruises there already. Once the spring was freed and shaped into a funny looking L, Sam handed it to Dean.

"The clip, too. Break that off." Dean muttered. Sam snapped off the clip, placing it next to the warped spring in Dean's hand. "You know how to pick a lock?" Dean realized at that moment that he didn't have two hands at his disposal. He couldn't work with just one hand.

"Kinda." Sam frowned. "Dad didn't want to teach me until he had some time. Apparently it takes a while. We never had time."

Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. _Figures._

"Dean?" Sam was already freaking out about getting kidnapped, and bit, then Dean joining them and being driven far away; if Dean passed out and didn't wake up- even if he didn't die-, Sam was going to lose it.

"Just do exactly what I say, Sam." Dean righted his posture and waited until the world stopped spinning and bouncing before painstakingly getting to his knees. He handed the clip back to Sam. "Keep that in the lock under the spring and move it when I tell you."

It took five minutes and seventeen failed attempts to pick the lock. Cas counted.

Sam had two more seizures during that time, both of which went unnoticed by Sam and Cas. Dean saw them. He counted.

The lock finally clicked over and Sam immediately jerked it open as if it would spontaneously lock again. Thankfully, no one was in the cabin.

The sky through the windshield was dark; cloud cover dark. The kind that's not drenched in pleasant moonlight but is instead suffocated by light from the nearby town bouncing off the sad, gray atmosphere, giving everything an eerie, artificial glow.

Dean, however, wasn't looking at the sky. He was surveying their surroundings, trying to gain as much information as possible before they made a run for it. He didn't know what 'it' was yet, but he'd know it when he saw it. Hopefully Sam would, too, if Dean couldn't make it.

"What do we do?"

Dean turned at the small voice and motioned to the cabin. "Get our asses out of this deathtrap."

* * *

 **A/N: Just FYI, keep an eye out for the next chapter real soon...**


	33. Lean on Me

**A/N: Vivi here! This is Monday's post, since I'll be out of town for two days. Hope you like it! Let me know what you think below...**

 **All previous warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"What do we do?"_

 _Dean turned at the small voice and motioned to the cabin. "Get our asses out of this deathtrap."_

* * *

Once Dean deemed the area- which looked to be a small town- safe, he opened the passenger side door and, when no vampire or angry housewife came barreling at them, quickly coaxed Sam out. When Cas froze, he nearly shoved the kid. "Time is a factor, Cas." He growled.

That got him moving.

The two boys stood on the sidewalk, looking lost and so much smaller than usual. The truck was parallel parked on the side of a wide, brick paved street with several other cars parked in front of and behind it. A green, grassy park lay to their right, the passenger side, and an array of very uniform brick buildings spread out to their left, on the other side of the road.

"Well go on." Dean hissed from the passenger seat, which was a good three feet off the ground and was as far as Dean was confident going without passing out. He was already panting just from the effort of standing and getting to the seat. "What are you doing? You need as much of a head start as you can get. _Go_."

" _We_ need a head start. You're coming, too." Cas said firmly. Sam and Dean looked at him in surprised confusion. His tone was completely changed from the timid, panicked boy in the truck.

His body language was no longer 'scared puppy', as Sam would put it. He was full on herding dog now, eager to get the group moving without losing a member. _Doesn't matter who Dean is, or what he looks like, or what happened. He's Sam's family. That's enough. He's coming whether he wants to or not._

"Like hell I am." Dean growled angrily, taking slight pleasure in the fleck of fear that shone in Cas' eyes. "You won't make it out of here alive if I slow you down. I can barely stand. You think I'll be able to dodge Winthrop until we get help? There's a better chance of me willingly getting a shot at the doctor's office than there is of me getting away from him. And trust me, I hate shots."

"You are wasting time." Cas shot back, adding his own flavor of irritation into his tone. "I'm not leaving you behind. You're Sam's somebody, his _brother_ , and it doesn't matter what you think of yourself. You are _worth saving_. Everyone is. Look, I'll help you walk. Just get out of that truck and _let's go already_."

Dean lost his rebellious steam when Sam looked at him as the word 'somebody' was spoken.

'No one at all?' Dean remembered Sam asking him as they walked through the forest a lifetime ago. The boy had been trying to figure out who Dean could go to once they got him out of the woods. 'C'mon, everybody's got somebody.'

'I must be nobody then, because I have no one.' Dean had deadpanned the kid and watched as he frowned. In retrospect, the bitter words were uncalled for, but it was true. Dean didn't have a somebody before Sam. And John. They were his only 'somebodies' in the whole world.

'Sam, he has no one to go to. Everybody needs somebody, right?' Sam remembered the exact moment his mind stored Dean away as one of his 'somebodies'. Dad had been calming his nerves about Dean living with them; Sam was worried that they wouldn't be able to care for him well enough, or that he wouldn't want to stay with them. At the time, Dean was only a somebody because he would be living with them. Not to say Sam didn't like Dean; the opposite was true. But it wasn't until Cas' words that Sam realized just how much of a somebody Dean had become for him.

 _I'm not losing you._ "We're not leaving you behind, dude." Sam said, watching as Dean scanned the park behind them. "C'mon. Do you really think we could survive on our own any better than you could here? We need your help. I don't know what to do, Dean. I've never had to run from a kidnapper at night in a weird town. _Please_."

"That's because Dad loves you." Dean muttered, watching for movement in the trees or on the street. "Find a way to call John, tell him where we are. If he gets here in time, he can come bust me out." _Not likely. Hopefully he'll have the sense to chalk me up as a loss before Winthrop gets near them. If he knows what's good for his family, him and Sam will be on the road and in the wind before that fang gets close. It… it doesn't matter if I'm actually his kid or not. I wasn't his for twelve years and- and he needs to put the kid he_ raised _before the one he lost._

Dean yelped when Cas jumped up into the cab, frustration all over his face, and grabbed the front of Dean's jacket. Cas then jumped out of the cab, pulling Dean along with him. As Dean twisted in the seat, Cas let go of the left side of his jacket and instead caught the underside of his arm. That hold was the majority of what kept Dean from kissing the asphalt when they got to the sidewalk.

The action, however, managed to nearly knock Dean out. He wasn't completely gone, but he certainly wouldn't be any help to them for a good long while. It felt like his insides were tearing apart and they very well may have been; Dean couldn't imagine that pain coming from anything else. The screaming nerve endings forbade any thought or action besides just trying to hold on to reality.

Within seconds, Cas had one hand wrapped around Dean's belt at his side and the other holding Dean's good arm across his shoulders. He was heavy, but the kids on his soccer team were much heavier. Dean looked like he should weight a lot more than he did, but the surprise wasn't a good one even in Cas' exhausted mind. At that point, Cas was sure that Sam's brother didn't just go through the grinder once. Being up close and with much more light than the dark truck yielded, Cas was starting to think that Dean lived in the grinder for a while.

Even so, Cas was pretty sure he could go about a mile with Dean like he was, but no further. He wasn't that strong. Not when Dean could do little more than force himself to breathe and move his legs every few steps.

"Where do we go now?" Cas asked quietly, looking down at Sam, who was staring off into space. The action completely confused him; Sam wasn't absent minded and he certainly knew that this wasn't the time for day dreaming. What was he doing?

Cas almost flinched when Sam snapped back to life. He shut the truck door quietly after going through the glove box and finding his tribal charm and two wallets, his and Cas'. "Dean?" He figured he would at least try to ask what to do. Dean wasn't answering. His eyes weren't even open; they were squeezed shut and watering. "Okay. Um… I think…"

After scanning their surroundings one more time, Sam had an idea. "Parking garage."

"Go go go." Cas nudged Sam and the pair took off. It took a while for Cas to get used to moving his new companion; he was basically hauling dead weight. With tightly controlled panic, Cas tried not to think about how he got into that position in the first place. He also tried not to think about how Dean seemed to be getting worse ever since he was thrown in the van. Something was wrong. So very, very wrong.

They were halfway to the tall, brick parking garage, walking fast on the sidewalk, when Sam glanced over his shoulder and saw that lady… Lucy? Lucy. She was getting in the truck.

Sam shoved Cas and Dean down the sidewalk, pulling them into the first hiding spot he found: a narrow alley filled with fire escapes from the surrounding buildings.

Both Cas and Sam flinched when they heard an enraged growl echo down the row of buildings they were huddled into.

Cas wasn't sure he'd ever been that scared before. He had been asleep when that drunk driver hit his father's car. He had been mostly numb when he walked out of his own house with emancipation papers stuffed into his book bag alongside what few things he managed to grab before Sadie dragged him to the door. Cas wasn't even this scared when Sadie poisoned his water while they were at the courthouse, battling over Dad's fortune. At that point, Cas' future was up in the air and he figured dying would solve all his problems. Funny how a sense of peace can settle over a dying man when he realizes he'll finally be free of all his woes.

But Cas wasn't in that dark place anymore. And back then, _he_ was the only person who would suffer if the worst happened. Now, if Lucy found them, she and that guy would hurt Sam and Dean- possibly kill Dean, or let him die if they wouldn't let him get medical attention- in addition to harming Cas himself.

He didn't want to get hurt. He didn't want to see another family torn apart. He didn't want Sam and his liveliness to be smothered; he didn't want Dean to die.

All those things were one wrong move away from happening and it took Cas' breath away like a baseball bat to the gut. He was scared shitless.

"C'mon." Sam whispered, motioning for Cas to follow as he went further down the tiny alleyway.

Behind the imposing brick buildings were small dwellings. Little white houses, built all at the same time from the uniform look and wear of them, butted up against the bricks, leaving only a ten foot margin between them. At the house directly in front of them, none of the lights were on.

And there was an old Jeep Cherokee in the driveway.

Almost without thinking, Cas lurched forward. He tried the car doors. Locked. After settling Dean on the ground against the front tire- ignoring the pitiful whimper and gasping-, Cas ran up onto the porch of the house, where a small potted fern was hanging.

Sam couldn't figure out why Cas was trying to steal a fern. That is, until he returned with a length of bare copper wire that was used to suspend the plant's pot from a hook.

He watched as Cas bent the wire in a few different places and shoved it into the passenger side lock.

"Why didn't you say something when we were trying to get out of the truck?" Sam smacked Cas' arm. His new friend had just successfully broken into an old car after just three tries with a flimsy wire.

"I, uh, I froze up, and honestly, your brother is intimidating and I didn't want to get on his bad side. Guess I drove that into a ditch, huh?" Cas threw open the back door and went to Dean, hauling him up in one fluid motion. Dean, who was moaning drawn out swear words, was deposited unceremoniously in the back seat.

"He's nice once you get to know him. Er, once he gets to know you." Sam closed the door quietly after ensuring Dean's legs were all the way in. "Can you hot wire a car?"

Cas donned a deer-in-the-headlights look. "I- well, no. I only know locks because my stepmom locked me out of the house. A lot."

"Get in."

* * *

Cas didn't know why Sam kept swerving every so often. Each time, though, he was quick enough to catch the wheel and right the speeding vehicle before the worst happened. Maybe something was wrong with the car; Sam seemed very upset whenever he swerved, like the steering mechanisms were going bad. One of Cas' hands was always white-knuckling his seatbelt regardless.

The very next town over was a college town; the bars were full, people walking outside at such a late hour that it was almost morning already. The drunk frat boys passed the studious jocks and upright students on their way to their early morning study sessions and no one batted an eye as Sam drove past them all.

"How old are you, exactly?" Cas asked, watching Sam navigate the close morning traffic and narrow roads with ease. Being sixteen, Cas could legally drive a car, but he was still terrible; orange cones beware.

"I turned thirteen a couple months ago." Sam said flatly.

"And you know how to drive a car?"

"I've known for years."

 _Who the hell are these people?_

The rest of the ride was silent, until they hit the city limits of the next town. "We should take him to a hospital." Cas said, glancing over his shoulder at Dean, who was sleeping- at least Cas thought he was- in the backseat.

"We can't. That's the first place they're gonna look. We gotta call Dad and when he gets here, he'll know what to do." Sam said, desperately trying to keep the nervous shake out of his voice.

"Then shouldn't we call the police, too?"

"He'll kill them if they find him. It's better if we don't."

Cas swallowed hard. "What the hell is going on?"

"Welcome to the real world."

Cas didn't feel very welcome.

They pulled into a huge commuter parking lot and stopped. Sam helped Cas get a very groggy and disgruntled Dean out of the car and upright again without jostling him too much.

"Dean? Can you hear me?" He got in front of Cas and Dean between the Jeep and a compact car, trying to get a good look at his friend's face before they sought shelter.

"Can't hear anything _but_ you, loudmouth." Dean lifted his head and smirked at Sam, but he sounded breathless and he was even paler than before. Most of his weight was shifted to Cas, but even then Dean was having trouble keeping off the ground.

 _Bleeding out faster than I anticipated._ Dean thought to himself. Already, the familiar hypotensive buzz and fuzz were filling his world, making his body feel… alien in addition to damaged. Thinking straight was hard. Walking straight, even with Cas' help, was hard. And he still couldn't move his bad arm. Glancing at his shoulder, he realized that it was still dislocated. He didn't think that far ahead when he devised his plan. _Clumsy as hell with my left. How am I gonna go lefty when this thing finally bites it? Oh wait. I'm gonna bite it first. Duh._

 _Just not in front of Sam. He can't watch me die… I don't want him there when it finally happens. It's just better that way._

Before Dean knew it, the trio were in the school's massive library. Sam strolled right up to the information desk and shot the librarian one of his signature 'sweet little boy' smiles. "Hi. Can you help me find the twenty four hour study rooms? I'm supposed to meet my sister so her and her physical therapy classmates can work on their pediatri-cianic's stuff." Sam found that if he purposefully stumbled over a word or two during his charades, the outcome was more believable.

The librarian was a large man in his late thirties with square-ish glasses and a blue sweater vest. He grinned at Sam. "Meeting your sister so early, huh? Why's that?"

Sam looked at the ground and pretended to pick at a hangnail as he spoke. "Cause I only just got picked up from Mom's house. Dad's not real good with schedules." He tried to sound sad and innocent. "I called Sissy and she called Dad, but Dad didn't sound like he should be driving, so she told him to bring us here. We live-er- Mom lives half a mile away. Dad said he'd sleep in the parking lot, so we can go when Sissy's done."

The librarian's smile was gone when Sam finished and looked up again with big puppy dog eyes. "You okay, little man? Do you feel safe with Mom and Dad?"

Sam put on another smile, but not so bright this time. "Yeah. Dad forgot it was his week. He told us in the car. He said he was sorry."

"Okay." The librarian still seemed worried, but looked up at Cas and Dean anyway. "These your brothers?"

"Yessir. This is Max." Sam point to Dean. "He hurt his knee playing ping pong earlier. He really likes to play ping pong with his friends. They always seem really excited about it but I'm never allowed to go to their parties." Sam took a moment to pout at Dean, who took the hint and tried to look as drunk as possible while still staying awake. "Sissy said she can look at his knee. And that's my other brother Ned. He's learning to drive and he made Dad sit in the navigator seat when he picked us up. He really likes to practice, 'specially with Dad, and he's really good."

"Ruddy, can we hurry this'up?" Dean slurred, eager to get of sight- and out of scent- as soon as possible. Populated areas were great for hiding from vampires, but if you had fresh blood on you, it worked like a homing beacon. Luckily, the blood on Dean's clothes dried in the truck.

That wouldn't help them if Winthrop walked by and saw them, though.

"Sorry, Max." Sam looked up at the librarian expectantly.

"Twenty four hour rooms are on the fourth floor, Ruddy. And if you boys ever need help, we're here. And I mean help with anything, okay? Books or parents. The university staff can get you out of real trouble with either." He smiled again and Sam almost felt bad for worrying the man. Almost.

"Thank you, sir." Sam waved goodbye and ran to join Cas and Dean, who had stumbled to the elevators already.

The fourth floor was busier than Sam anticipated. He supposed that was a good thing. But it wasn't so crowded that there wasn't one private study room available. Sam _knew_ that was a good thing. He signed them up for one and told Cas where it was before going on a quest to find a phone he could use to call Dad.

"You're not gonna puke, are you?" Cas asked nervously, several minutes later. He sat beside Dean at the table in the center of the little study room, keeping him from falling to either side as he nodded off or cringed at some internal pain.

"No. Nothin' in there anyway." Dean shrugged.

Instantly, Cas felt as worried as the librarian. "When was the last time you ate? Have you been sick for a long time? I mean, Sam said you were in an accident, but I didn't think it was that bad."

"Ate a couple days ago. Been sick for… goin' on eight months." Dean let his head fall lazily to the side so he could look at Cas.

As expected, Cas was surprised. "Eight months?"

"Yup."

"But- Sam- your Dad, didn't he do anything about it?" Cas asked, eyes wide with hurt.

"Lemme give you the run-down. The real story. Just promise you won't look at Sam any different. He likes you. You're his friend and I don't want to fuck that up for him." Dean said flatly.

"Uh, okay."

"Picture a six-" Dean paused, realizing for the first time that if he actually _was_ a Winchester, he would only be seventeen; he was taken when he was five, not six as he'd thought for most of his life. _Guess I mixed up some dates… Bet John knows my birthday. Maybe he'll tell me and… and…_ His train of thought was gone, but he eventually remembered what he was saying to the kid next to him.

"Uh, a five year old and a baby in a slimy motel room without an adult. Baby's asleep, five year old is freaking out because Daddy left them alone and there's somebody knocking at the door. Five year old hides the baby in the closet just in time for three vampi-" Dean caught himself just in time to remember that Cas had the same punctures that he and Sam had. Cas already knew monsters were among them, like it or not. _Guess the only way you're privileged enough to know the real world is if the real world turns on you._

" _Vampires_ to break the door down and take him. Two years later, the now seven year old has been a walking buffet, a punching bag, and a… toy for a nest of about fifteen, give or take. Hunters, people who kill things like vampires, would come occasionally and wipe out about half the nest. They never saw him, until this old guy and his crew snuck into a barn real quiet one day and found the kid chained to a support beam with a _collar_. A fucking _dog collar_. Wasn't even new. Anyway, he gets the kid out and drops him into the custody of two 'outstanding' citizens, who can't have kids and- gasp, you'll never guess- use him as a punching bag and a toy and a pack mule and a butler for the next ten years. Then the guy dies and the woman tries to… _do_ things to the kid that the man usually stopped her from doing before, and the kid runs away. Mind you, he hasn't had a reliable source of food since he was taken from his real father when he was five. The kid does some things he regrets and buys a shit car, moves a couple hours away just to be homeless on the street. Then, one day, he hears about some missing campers. Now, the kid's a hunter, too; he goes out into the woods intending to kill whatever was killing campers. He gets thrown against a tree, dislocates his shoulder, falls twenty feet, has his side ripped open by a freaky zombie monster, and nearly dies."

Cas was speechless. He didn't know what to think.

Dean was speechless, too, for a few moments. That much talking took a lot out of him and he had to catch his breath. "But, uh… John and Sammy were there, hunting the same thing. We didn't know each other before then, really, but they took me in and patched me up and enrolled me in school. Now we're here, being hunted by the vampire who took me in the first place."

"You're the kid?" Cas' voice was loud and clearly upset.

"Sam was the baby." Dean said quietly, glancing at the door. "Don't tell him any of this, by the way. He doesn't know."

"He doesn't know what happened when he was little?"

"Oh, no, he knows most of it. It's just, he was never told about _me_. He was too little to remember me and I was missing for so long… John, uh, I think he was trying to protect Sam from a hard truth, y'know?" Dean shrugged and looked back to Cas, who didn't seem any less alarmed. He may have actually been more alarmed. "I probably would've done the same thing if Sammy were my kid."

"John is your father?"

"Well, yeah, as far as I know. I mean, he didn't outright say it until like yesterday, but… he's the closest thing I've had to a father… _ever_. And his story matches mine. There's a chance- probably a pretty good chance- that I'm not actually Sam's brother or John's son, but they've kinda adopted me."

"So Sam doesn't know you're probably/maybe his biological brother. Then why did he tell me you were his brother at school? And why did that guy say we were _all_ brothers?" Cas asked quickly, struggling to wrap his head around the twisted, backward, screwed up situation.

Dean shrugged, but inside he was just as on edge as Cas at that point. However, the fog stuck in his skull created a very bad environment for sense-making. _Sam told kids at school that I was his brother? Why would he do that? John- John didn't tell him about his brother. Not when I was around. If Sam knows, then why hasn't he said anything yet? He isn't acting any different… is he?_ "He probably just made it up. Wanted us to seem like a semi-normal family. And when did Winthrop say we were brothers?"

Cas swallowed hard and couldn't look at Dean. "He, uh… when he took you, and then before, when he broke into Sam's house. He looked surprised that I was there, and he told that lady to get Sam while he killed me because I… I wasn't a Winchester. But Sam isn't a Winchester, either. Your- er, his last name is Bennett, right?"

Dean just shook his head.

Cas got the message and had a hard time remembering to breathe. "Okay, so _everyone_ has lied to me now. Good to know."

"If Winthrop said he was gonna kill you, why are you alive right now?" Dean's tone was as even as he could make it. Talking was getting harder every minute and he didn't want to fade out mid-sentence.

"Sam yelled something like 'don't hurt my friend' but changed it to 'don't hurt my brother' at the last second and that guy- Winthrop? He asked me if I was really Sam's brother and John's son and I said yes even though I had no idea who John was at the time. He, uh, he hit me over the head and I woke up in the truck with Sam."

"Sam made it up to save your ass. Smart kid." He couldn't help but grin with pride. _Best little brother ever._

"So that guy would've really…?"

"Without batting an eye."

"Holy shit."

Dean smirked. "Language."

Cas blushed, but didn't return the grin. "So- so he knew you. He was the vampire from your story?"

"Yeah."

"And now he's trying to get all the 'Winchesters' into one place. Why's that?"

Dean knew exactly why. Winthrop had burned it into his brain for two years. But Cas didn't need to know all the gory details. "Revenge."

"For what?"

"You don't want me to get into it."

Cas' nerves were not helped by his new companion's words. He chose to avoid the topic entirely; it was a little too much for him at the moment. "Okay. So… How long have you been back with them? Sam and John? You make it seem like it's been-"

"A couple months? Ha. No. A couple weeks? Nope. No, I've been with 'em for just about two weeks now. I was homeless in Orem, Utah for ten months after I got away from Lucy. I had walking pneumonia and an STD and I'm pretty sure there were bugs in my hair, I was malnourished and skinny as a rail, and then that thing attacked me and I got all torn up and I couldn't use my arm. Turns out that was the best thing to ever happen to me. All the Winchesters have been doing since I met them is trying to get me healthy again. I'm not really surprised that John hasn't outright told me _convincingly_ whether I'm his kid or not. Didn't know if I was going to make it for a while there." Dean took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. He totally missed whatever it was that Cas said.

Another wave of dizziness and this time, confusion, swept over Dean. _Why am I telling him all this? How the hell did this happen?_

Sam bounded into the room seconds later with a clunky cell phone in hand. "A girl named Tia said I could use this for five minutes." He immediately sat down and dialed his father's number.

Dean let his head fall onto his arm on the table.

"Hey, you okay?" Cas asked, feeling comfortably numb after riding out his waves of shock. Dean just nodded.

"C'mon, Dad. Please have your phone this time." Sam tapped his foot and paced the room for four rings.

Five was his lucky number.

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you thought and maybe, if I get a lot of reviews, I'll post midweek again...**

 **See you soon (hopefully)!**


	34. Fade to Black

**A/N: Vivi here! If you're reading this on Monday, you must not have followed me or the story. Don't forget to click those buttons to stay on top of my random posts...**

 **Don't hate me for this chapter. Or the one after it. Or the one after that.**

 **Let me know what you think in the review box below!**

 **Previous warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"C'mon, Dad. Please have your phone this time." Sam tapped his foot and paced the room for four rings._

 _Five was his lucky number._

* * *

Five was not such a lucky number after all. Yes, Sam managed to talk to Dad and tell him exactly where they were, but Tia needed her phone back before Sam got the chance to tell him that Dean wasn't okay. He could hear Dad and Bobby bickering in the background when he was talking, trying to figure out just where the college was. It wasn't in Dad's atlas and Sam wasn't sure what town they were in. By the time they finally figured it out, Tia was knocking at the door with a scowl on her tired face.

Five was also the maximum number of hours a student could reserve a study room for. Sam, Cas, and Dean were kicked out of their safe haven promptly at noon.

Dean was a zombie. Dad was still seven hours away. Sam didn't know what to do and Cas was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that vampires- and monsters in general- were real.

"It's not a big deal, Cas. Get over it." Sam snapped, turning to wake Dean after the librarian told them they needed leave within five minutes and walked away. "Hey, man. We gotta go."

Dean batted at the hand shaking his shoulder and grumbled something angrily before hiccupping quietly.

"We gotta _go_ , Dean. They're kicking us out and I don't want us to draw attention. What if that lady and the vampire are nearby?" Sam didn't let go of Dean's shoulder until he lifted his head and they exchanged frustrated, exhausted glares.

"If they're nearby then _why are we leaving_?" Cas hissed, glancing nervously at the door.

"We don't know they're nearby, I was just saying- y'know what? Nevermind. They didn't see us drive away and there were so many other towns around that there's no way this would be the first place they'd look." Sam started pulling on Dean's good arm, trying to get him vertical so they could _move_ already.

"But this was the first place _we_ thought to come. It's the first stop on the main highway out of that town, Sam; we practically left them a map." Contrary to his position of argument, Cas was out of his chair and taking Dean's weight from Sam. In his defense, it was pretty obvious that Sam was having trouble supporting Dean's weight by himself; the pair nearly hit the wall before Cas got there.

"Vampires can sniff people out. I figured we should go to the college when I saw its sign. We're hiding in the mass of students here, Cas. It's our best chance. Sue me."

"How far away is your dad?"

"Too far."

* * *

They wound up in the student union, seated in a small pocket off of a second floor hallway that had one window and two tiny couches angled toward it. Sam cringed at the uncomfortable and colorful stains on the old things, but this was the best they could do and it wasn't half bad.

Sam and Cas took turns sleeping; they got tired of bickering after a few tense minutes. Dean was woken up during every shift change, about every two hours, to make sure he could still wake up. The hiccups that kept coming in his sleep were a nice indicator that he was still kicking. There were no vampire sightings through the window or down the hall, and no one told them to buzz off. Within half an hour of his first watch shift, Sam's nails were bitten down and almost bleeding. It had been years since he last did that. He hated it.

He hated being so nervous.

He hated feeling helpless.

He hated waiting for Daddy to come save them.

He hated that Dean was only getting paler the longer they sat there.

He hated that he dragged Cas into their fucked up _._

He hated the whole situation.

He hated Winthrop. More than anything he'd hated in his whole life. And Lucy was a close second. But there was nothing he could do about them at that moment. He had to get Dean and Cas back to relative safety before they were found again. So he would wait to enact his revenge on their captors. He couldn't do anything _yet._

But he would.

* * *

At three thirty, Sam snapped awake from a nightmare with Cas shaking his shoulders.

"What the hell, man?" Sam gasped, shoving at the dark haired kid whose eyes shone with panic.

As soon as he saw that Sam was really actually awake, Cas glanced behind them into the hall and out the window. When he found no immediate threat, he spoke. "You were yelling. And thrashing around. We can't get kicked out, Sam."

"Oh." Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes. _Another night terror, only it's daytime._ He hadn't had the night terror in like three weeks and he was starting to think maybe he outgrew it. That would've been a relief. The dream made no sense and was totally confusing in addition to terrifying; he would be glad to have it gone.

It almost always started out a sense of searing loss. Nothing else. No color or scene or sounds. Just loss, deeper and more painful than any other emotion Sam had experienced in his short life. And then, slowly, the world would lighten slightly and alternate between bright red and dark blue behind a massive tan colored thing that was holding Sam against it. Sam figured that was why he thrashed and threw punches when he had the night terror; he _hated_ being confined like that. Always had. It made him feel small and helpless and unless it was Dad doing it, he felt weak and… and like a baby, too.

That part would go on for what seemed like hours, with the loss eventually being joined by fear and overwhelming sadness. Then the colors faded away, leaving him with just a brief glimpse of something that tugged at his brain but never quite got through. He wondered sometimes what would happen if Dad or whoever wouldn't wake him up before the dream ended. Sam was pretty sure he'd never finished it, and he desperately wanted to. He needed to know what the last part meant.

When the blue and red and tan colors were gone, a soft shade of green replaced them. And then there Sam was, sitting on something squishy with one of his hands sticky and wet. He couldn't figure out why, but there was a happiness in that moment that Sam hadn't been able to feel anywhere else. It was pure and innocent and safe. It was in such stark opposition to the life he led that sometimes he wondered if it was his epilepsy doing weird things to his brain while he slept.

His other hand was always bracing himself against something steady and warm that shook when the sound of laughter broke through. It wasn't Dad's laugh, and it wasn't Mom's; it wasn't adult in any way, and it sounded more masculine than feminine.

For a long time, Sam kept the dream to himself. And when Dad finally got him to talk about it, Sam only ever told him the first part. He was scared that Dad would think something was wrong with him, or that his brain was getting worse, if Sam told him about the little boy. He knew his brain made his 'brother' up. Sam didn't have a brother. But there was no one else the boy could've been; he felt so close to the kid, so protected when the laughter sounded. When he was young- young enough to feel so small in the presence of a little boy, gauging by the laugh- Sam only had Jo to play with. And she was a girl, a very _girly_ girl at the time. Dad really didn't let him play with other kids until he was much older. Much too old for the dream.

Sam was an only child. Dad was the only family he had and Dad was enough.

But… strange as it seemed, whenever Sam woke up- or was woken up, rather- from the night terror, he missed his brother. He missed that little boy for _days_ after every episode. He missed the brother he never had.

And he _never_ told Dad.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, nobody really noticed." Cas said, looking over his shoulder again, out of the nook. "But maybe you shouldn't sleep again until your Dad gets here."

"Yeah." Sam let his head fall into his hands. Cas sat beside him and they just… existed for a few minutes. When Sam felt mentally ready to tackle guard duty again, he lifted his head.

His eyes landed on Dean, first thing.

 _Just like having a big brother._

'He- he's your brother, my son…' The thought that popped into Sam's head had him questioning just how much of a cover story his father's tale was, back when Dean was first hospitalized. He only entertained it for a split second, though; his brain made up the little boy from the dream. Sam _knew_ he didn't have a brother. _I don't have a brother… Dad would've told me, right? We just met Dean like two weeks ago; there's no way… Dad made it up at the hospital. Winthrop was lying to us. He had to be._

 _Right?_

'I always wanted a big brother.' Sam heard his own words echoed in his mind. Surely if Dad had known Dean was really his brother, he would've said something then. Or at any point after that.

Right?

"Do you think he's gonna be okay?"

"I don't know."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, every hair on Sam's body stood on end.

From the window of the student union, they had a wonderful view of the central courtyard. The library was to their left, and a big, ultra-modern style building- which looked very out of place in the rather traditional school- was to their right, with walkways separating each building from the others. The road they came in on made up the forth side of the courtyard, and was buzzing with activity just about every hour on the hour, and almost deserted in between. The commuter lot lay just beyond it.

The fugly modern building wasn't what made Sam's heart drop, however.

The truck they escaped from went by on the road and turned into the same commuter lot the Jeep they… borrowed was in.

"Cas." Sam hissed, shaking his new friend's shoulder.

The boy slowly came around, mumbling some nonsense before looking up at Sam. "What?"

"The truck is here."

Cas was wide awake then, the punctures on his neck seeming to pulse fear into his every thought. The pair watched, transfixed, as the truck parked near the back of the lot, where there were spaces still available. Three figures exited.

"Who's that other guy?" Cas exclaimed quietly.

"Must be that guy he was talking about." Sam pulled Cas away from the window when the group began walking toward the library. "We need to get out of here."

Two minutes later found the trio hustling into the huge cafeteria that occupied much of the student union's second floor. A big sign in the arched entrance read 'Authentic French Cuisine' as the special.

The whole place stunk, at least to Sam. So many smells forced their way into his nose that he felt violated and almost gagged. _Ugh. This is perfect. No way they'll track us in here._

They got a few strange looks when some of the students having lunch noticed Dean's state. And a few more when Sam seized, stopping abruptly and nearly making a freshman walking behind him lose his plate of spaghetti. But no one said anything.

Most of the seating area of the cafeteria consisted of long, rectangular tables with individual chairs strewn haphazardly nearby. But the farthest third of the room housed three rows of private booths. There were two ways into the little area: one on either end of the room. Both entrances warned students that those tables were for studying during meals _with other people_. The whole note was very passive aggressive and Sam was pretty sure they'd had some conflict about that in the past. At that point, he didn't really care.

Three booths were open. They took one toward the middle.

Dean, once set down on the bench and pushed in so Cas could keep him upright, immediately let his head fall to the table with a pained, breathless groan and one very blunt thud. _Really wish I had my beads right about now._ Dean didn't know why he still cherished those beads; if John and Sam were his family, then it seemed silly to cling to four little pieces of twelve year old plastic. But what if they weren't related? _Why did I put 'em in my backpack?_ Dean kicked himself for thinking that the safest place for the beads would be in a pocket in his backpack. He wanted to keep them close on his first day of school. Too bad he dropped the backpack in the hall at John's.

In his defense, John's buddy had just accused him of murder. And Dean hadn't _ever_ killed a human.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Sam asked softly from the other bench. The room was incredibly loud, but the booth area somehow managed to deaden the sound considerably. Both Sam and Cas could hear every whimper, groan, caught breath, and drawn out growl that Dean made.

"I'm fine." A quiet hiccup suggested otherwise.

The next half hour was spent in hyper-alert tension. It was no secret that Dean was _not_ fine and if any one of Winthrop's gang found them, they wouldn't be able to get away. When they first entered the cafeteria, they saw a few big windows letting soft sunlight into the room; every so often, Sam would very carefully get up from the booth and scan the rows, then go to the edge of the booths and scan the rest of the room, then edge along the wall with the entrance until he was sure no one who wanted to hurt him was nearby. Then he'd run in front of the entrance arch and skirt his way along the far wall until he reached the windows. He tried his best not to look suspicious; it was a very good thing that a condiment stand sat right in front of one of the window frames.

It was also a very good thing that the windows overlooked the courtyard; Sam could still see the parking lot.

And the truck was still there.

That is, until the fifth time he went to 'get ketchup' at the stand. The truck was in the exact same spot, but just as Sam was about to head back to the table, he saw the main doors of the library fly open. One of the glass panels cracked.

Winthrop, Lucy, and that other guy stepped out, looking around like they were lost. Very angrily lost. The guy was the most upset; no student came within fifteen feet of them. Even after Winthrop held up a placating hand and calmed the man a bit.

Sam ducked when he saw the new guy start scanning windows on nearby buildings. A few seconds later, Sam stood just enough to see over the lower threshold of the window. Their captors were walking toward the student union. As he raced back to the booth, Sam really hoped it wasn't because he'd been spotted.

"Time to go." Sam said, tugging at Cas, who had nodded off.

"Why?" He asked in the most annoyed tone Sam had ever heard out of him. Granted, Sam hadn't known him all that long, but still.

"They're coming, I saw them."

Dean did not enjoy the frantic rush out the back door of the cafeteria; nor did Sam. The poor kid seized in the entryway and was knocked onto his rear by the massive door just as he came back around. With a few choice words, Sam stood and jogged to catch up with Cas and Dean. The back door opened onto a small back road. About two dozen students could be seen walking along the sidewalks, but Dean only saw one thing. He shouted louder than he thought he could. And boy did it hurt. "Taxi!"

* * *

"Thanks." Cas handed over the last of his cash to the college kid driving the cramped silver taxi.

"Have a good day." The guy quipped, watching with morbid curiosity as Sam and Cas pulled Dean from his seat only to nearly drop him when he lost his balance in the grass beside the road.

The taxi was gone in seconds.

"You have a plan, right?" Sam asked nervously.

"Yeah. Get inside."

Dean had asked the taxi driver to take them to the dorms. Turns out there were a lot of dorms on campus; after a few seconds of surprisingly quick thinking, Cas jumped in and asked for the senior dorm. He figured there would only be one of those; most seniors in college lived in apartments off campus. Dorm life wasn't all that great, at least from what his dad told him whenever they talked about which colleges Cas was going to apply to. He still shivered at the mention of communal bathrooms.

Cas was pretty sure he wasn't going to college at this point. He was pretty sure he wanted to find an isolated cabin somewhere and just live away from all the vampires and other weird monsters he didn't know about yet.

"How are we gonna do that? All the doors are locked." Sam said as he watched a student pull out a lanyard with a few keys on it to get in the very sturdy looking metal door.

"I'm a drunk college moron, remember? I look old enough. Just say you're dropping me off." Dean grimaced as a lance of fire returned briefly to his shoulder before it went numb again. He didn't even notice the hiccup in the whirlwind of agony.

"Quickly, please?" Cas pulled Dean along toward the dorm in question. Being out in the open like that was making his skin crawl; standing impatiently next to the locked metal door didn't really make him feel any better.

It didn't take long for a sympathetic brunette to arrive and clear their way for them.

"I'm pretty sure he lost his key." Cas said once they were in the small lobby, Dean hanging onto consciousness by a thread and not even pretending at that point. "Thanks, and sorry to bother you."

"No problem, cutie. I didn't know it was little sib's weekend. Is he your brother?" The girl asked, smiling at Sam like he was some puppy that couldn't speak for himself.

"We're all brothers." Sam said, crossing his arms. No way was he gonna pull the little kid charade this time; not after that comment. "And we're gonna spend the whole weekend together. Just the three of us."

The brunette's smile lost some of its enthusiasm. She got the message. "Oh, well, have fun. I hope you feel better, honey. Drink lots of water."

"We'll make sure he does. Thanks." Cas smiled at the girl, blushing at the awkwardness Sam just threw on their interaction. She went for one of the stairwells at the far end of the room. "Now what? Sam?"

Sam looked up in time to see confusion flit across Cas' face before he spoke again. That time, Cas noticed that something was wrong with Sam. The staring spells weren't voluntary, he didn't think. But they only lasted a few seconds so… "What now?"

"I dunno. Dean?" Sam got no response. "Dean."

Tapping on Dean's face was a good way to piss him off. "Stoppit, Sammy." He grumbled, turning away from Sam's hand. "Lemme 'lone."

"What now, genius?"

"What do you think? You're not dumb, bitch. Find a spot to lay low." Dean didn't even try to keep the irritation out of his tone. He did, however, try very hard to keep the slur out of it. Sam needed to think he was holding on or Dean was sure the kid would panic. And Sam couldn't panic until John was there to protect him because Dean sure as hell couldn't.

"How about there?" Cas nodded to a small recreation room next to what appeared to be the dorm's management office.

It was dark, despite the windows. The space looked mostly unused with the most recreational thing in the room being a battered and torn up pool table that was missing a few balls in the triangle at the center. There only appeared to be one pool cue as well.

But there was a small couch and a few folding chairs, with one nasty looking- and smelling- armchair in the corner. Everyone avoided that one.

"Close the blinds." Dean muttered once he was sitting on the couch. Automatically, his hand reached for his side, trying to quell the pain with pressure. Not that it helped, but he hoped it would if he pushed hard enough. Or maybe… maybe the pressure made it worse? It was hard to tell.

The edges of his vision were already fuzzy and almost everything sounded very far away most of the time. His toes and fingertips tingled. Well, the ones that he could feel.

Cas closed the blinds while Sam watched Dean pant for air and wriggle around in his seat, trying to find a reasonably comfortable position. "Lay down, Dean." Sam said gently, a slow tide of fear and worry starting to fill his stomach, hurried by each hiccup. "I'll help you."

* * *

Sam started to get antsy around five thirty in the evening. He was starving, exhausted, and… and just wanted his Dad. Dad could make everything okay again. But the trio wasn't where Sam told Dad they'd be; the study room was occupied by someone else now and the boys were on the other side of the huge college campus at that point.

So Sam went exploring. Occasionally, a student would walk by and give him a strange look. He didn't know if it was because he was a younger kid- barely a high schooler- in the college's senior dorm, or if it was because…

It was incredibly frustrating that the students kept jumping from nearby to across the room or out the door in an instant.

Eventually, Sam found what he was looking for. There were a few payphones lining one wall of one of the stairwells he stumbled across.

However, he had no change.

Sam was glad that some college kids were stupid. He checked every phone's refund cup and found a few coins. There were a few more on the floor nearby, and two under the first step of the stairs.

He had just enough for one call.

Luckily, Dad picked up on the first try.

Unfortunately, the connection was terrible. Sam got their new location across eventually, he was pretty sure, but he was nearly in tears of frustration as he tried to tell Dad that Dean was getting worse. He could only hear blips and occasionally a word from his father before the call dropped completely.

"No, no, _Dad._ I don't know what to do. What do I do?" His eyes started to prick. His face got hot. A terrifying pressure clenched around his chest and made it hard to breathe. " _Please_."

Sam didn't think the thing would work very well anymore. He seemed to have broken the receiver when he put the phone back. Multiple times. With force.

* * *

They say the best kind of death happens when you're asleep. And hopefully, when you're old, surrounded by loved ones. Because then you've had a long, full life and it's just your time to go. It isn't painful. It isn't drawn out or dramatic. It's peaceful and quiet and easy.

Then again, everyone knows dying is usually easy. Living is the hard part. That's the kicker; if you want to live after something tries to kill you, then you have to _want to live_. You have to fight for your life, pull away from the ever present darkness, draw in breath after breath until it's natural again and not forced. You have to push aside the pain and the heartbreak and the fear that comes with life and just… stay alive.

That's the tragedy of the young meeting their mortality. They fight tooth and nail but sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes the will to live just isn't enough and death makes its somber appearance, tearing the youth from the world they've struggled to build in their lifetime. Sometimes the child isn't surrounded by family. Sometimes they aren't asleep when they go. Sometimes the kid is kicking and ends up screaming their last breath. Sometimes the innocent is killed. Sometimes they're completely alone. Sometimes an entire nation mourns.

And sometimes the death isn't anything worth noting. A statistic in the newspaper. A report on the television. A silent ambulance. A too-still body on a couch in some run down dorm in who-knows-where.

Dean had a strong will to live. He had to; Sam needed him to help them escape a terrible fate. But however close Dean had come to his expiry in the past, he'd never dipped quite so low.

At least he was asleep for it.

It was six thirty when Cas couldn't wake Dean.

"C'mon, you can't sleep forever. You have to talk for a minute before I'll leave you alone. Dean, wake up."

"Huh?" Sam jerked awake from his latest episode of nodding off. He was in one of the folding chairs, leaning against a wall. His hair was a mess, his stomach growling like an angry wolf, and his neck more than a little sore from the awkward angle he'd fallen into when he nodded off.

"He won't wake up."

"What?"

"I can't wake Dean up."

Sam stood and went to kneel beside the couch. He shook Dean's good shoulder. "Dean, it's time to wake up." When that didn't work, he shook a little harder. Then he tapped Dean's face. Then he practically slapped him. " _Dean,_ c'mon. This is not happening. Oh, shit. This is so not good."

The only good thing about the situation was that Dean had a pulse. A very fast, frantic pulse, but a pulse nonetheless.

Sam didn't know what to do.

* * *

 **A/N: Please don't hate me. Dean's not dead yet, so that's good, right? I bet you're saying to yourself: "Self, how could this story get any worse for our boys?" The answer is... you'll find out Monday...**

 **Happy almost Friday! Let me know your thoughts. Good or bad; all are welcome!**

 **Also, I'm terribly curious: have any of you recommended this story to friends? Let me know if you have (and why would be nice, too). I love that I get to share this with you and it would be an honor to be recommended to others!**

 **See you soon!**


	35. Harvester of Sorrow

**A/N: Vivi here! Hope you enjoy today's post. Don't hate me.**

 **Previous warnings apply.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

"Dean, _c'mon. This is not happening. Oh, shit. This is so not good."_

 _The only good thing about the situation was that Dean had a pulse. A very fast, frantic pulse, but a pulse nonetheless._

 _Sam didn't know what to do._

* * *

"How in the hell did they get this far away so fast?" Bobby, soul intact- barely, if the boys had waited three more hours to call, he was just going to find a crossroads without John's consent- was back in the passenger seat of the Impala, acting as navigator with a huge atlas open on his lap. They were just minutes away from where Sam told John he was about… an hour and a half ago.

"A goddam van, Bobby."

"We got a prodigy over here, people. Stand back." Bobby grumbled, glancing between his atlas and the signs on the streets they flew past. "Turn left at the next light."

Before long, John had driven as close to the specified dorm as he could without driving on a student walkway. "Park the car." He barked as he abandoned Bobby and jogged across the lawn, searching the grassy area for his boys or that fang.

After a solid minute of pounding his fist on the door and resisting the urge to yell, a kid appeared. Well, more like snuck a peek around the corner before walking out in the open, wringing his hands. He pushed the door open and John didn't give him another thought.

Once inside, it didn't take more than five seconds for John to orient himself.

"C'mon, Dean. _Please_."

John's ears perked up at the sound of his youngest son's voice. He sounded scared. _Shit._

The father nearly ran right past the flimsy door before he caught sight of that mop of hair through the small window beside it. "Sammy?"

Sam shot up and raced to the door, getting captured in a shaky hug before he could even say a word.

John wanted- no, _needed_ to strangle the thing that took his kids. If he was angry before, he was _murderous_ now.

Sam had punctures in his neck. Dean probably would, too. _No death will be slow enough for that piece of shit, but I'll certainly do my best._

As soon as he was released, Sam pulled Dad inside, toward the couch. "Something's wrong with Dean."

John's heart dropped when he rounded the corner and saw just how bad their situation- and odds- had become. Dean wasn't moving; John couldn't even see his chest rise and fall. He was frighteningly pale, his skin nearly translucent in places. There were punctures in his neck and his arm looked wrong. "What happened?"

Sam filled him in as Dad tried in vain to rouse his son. Midway through his briefing, John looked Dean up and down and froze. The half of the kid's shirt, his pants, and the couch beneath were stained dull crimson. "When did this happen?" John's voice was barely calm as he pointed to the stain.

"About ten minutes ago." John looked up to see who had spoken. A kid with dark hair was wringing his hands just behind John; the same kid who opened the door. "It happened really fast; we were getting ready to call 911."

"We need to move. Now."

* * *

"Shit, John, what happened?" Bobby asked as soon as the boys were close enough to hear him. He hadn't moved the Impala from the small side road John parked on; there was no traffic and he wanted to stay close just in case.

He was glad he did. The three of them who could walk were practically sprinting for the car.

While the relief at seeing Sammy relatively unharmed was tremendous, the sight of Dean unresponsive in John's arms was enough to null out any sense of peace Bobby had left.

Sam threw open the door and pushed a black haired kid inside while John rounded the hood to take the passenger seat, never letting go of Dean. The kid in the back had to pull Sam in when he seized.

Bobby hadn't seen Sam seize in years. Somehow, that was the thing that brought all of it to reality. A heavy dose of adrenaline was pumped into the old hunter's veins as Sam landed on the seat with a dull thump. The random kid protected his head from bouncing off the front bench.

"Hospital." John barked. Even with Dean in his lap, completely still, John was having trouble finding a reliable pulse. He never stopped trying to wake his son and he _never_ let go of a pulse when he found one.

Bobby was moving the car even before Sam's door was shut; he was pretty sure Sam's legs were inside already. Goosebumps covered Bobby's arms when he saw the stains that covered much of Dean's clothing. The stains were already extending onto John as well; his clothes and hands were red in places. "That's a lotta blood."

"I am aware."

* * *

The nearest hospital was twenty painstaking minutes away. As soon as the car stopped at the doors of the ER, John was out, Dean still in his arms. When one of the receptionists caught sight of him through the glass doors, he ran down a hall beside the desk and disappeared.

The other man at the desk led John down the same hall without a word.

It was a maze, but the man was met by a nurse who told him which room to take father and son to. She glanced over Dean and ran the other way, practically yelling the preparations and procedures that needed to be ready _ten minutes ago._

The place the receptionist led them to wasn't even a room. It was an area separated into four parts along one wall of the ER by tall, thick, dark green, patterned curtains. All of the curtained boxes were open; one with an elderly woman in an oxygen mask, one with a man who was breathing hard and rubbing his chest, and another with a shell shocked girl, a teenager, just sitting on the bed with bandages on her wrists. A nurse sat in a chair beside her, probably keeping watch.

The last was open, but only just; John saw an elderly man being hurriedly wheeled away in another bed, chatting with the nurse who was moving him. Except his words made no sense and his right eye was closed.

As soon as John set Dean down on the bed that was placed before him, a man in gray scrubs came up behind them and practically pushed John out of the way. He pressed a stethoscope to Dean's chest and listened long and hard. Then he too ran off, barking orders. The man, a doctor, was on the phone within ten seconds.

"Tell me what happened." The nurse from earlier, the one who yelled, was busy putting in an IV catheter before John even knew she was there.

He couldn't speak for a moment. John's whole world was going to hell in a handbasket and he wanted to throw up. He wanted to press pause. He wanted to go back twelve years and let Jefferson go kill himself on his own reckless ambush. He wanted to go back thirteen years and not fall asleep in front of that stupid movie; maybe then he could've saved his wife and avoided _all_ the horrors he put their sons through. But he knew he couldn't do that. So he settled for just wanting to go home with both his sons at his side.

He still wanted to throw up, though.

Instead of impeding the medical staff with an unnecessary mess, he told the nurse everything he knew about their situation. Well, censored for the general public; no vampires, just gangs.

"Blood type?"

"O negative."

"Any bleeding disorders?"

"N-no."

"Name?"

"Dean Wi- Valent. I'm John Valent, his father." _His poor excuse of a father._

"How old is Dean?"

"Seventeen."

"Do we have your permission to take therapeutic privilege over Dean's case?"

"What?"

"Do we have your permission to do whatever it takes to keep him alive without asking you first? It saves a lot of very valuable time." The nurse quipped so quickly that John almost didn't understand her.

"Yeah, yes- just help him." John looked back to his son. _If I never see you in a hospital bed again, it'll be too soon, bud. Just hang on. You've fought so long already. I promise you'll never have to go through something like this again, son, not as long as I'm alive._

"John?"

John whipped around and saw the doctor from earlier, a clipboard in his hands and a sense of urgency in his tone. "This is exactly what you just agreed to. Sign there." He put the clipboard in John's hands and walked past him to where Dean's vitals were now displayed on a little screen.

The father didn't know much of what was on that screen, it was different from the ones at the other hospital, but the numbers he saw didn't look reassuring.

He sighed the paper and was escorted out- against his will- by a nurse who was bigger than he was.

John never felt so helpless in his life.

Bobby had Sam and the other kid sat in the corner of the waiting area. Sam was on a chair with his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around them, and his forehead pressed to the top of it all. The other kid looked like he needed a long nap in a quiet, dark room. And maybe a few years of therapy.

 _Sam's friend._ John realized for the first time. He tried to remember the kid's name… Sam told him on two separate occasions. He'd even seen it on those papers in the living room, the trampled ones. It didn't come to mind. It really didn't matter at that moment.

"What's goin' on?" Bobby asked, standing and meeting John halfway to the hall. "Why are you out here? You should be with-"

"They're doing all they can. They said I was in the way. I- I signed a paper saying they didn't have to ask me permission to give him drugs or do procedures. I didn't know they'd force me out afterward." John ran his hands through his hair and tried to take a deep breath. He felt as shell shocked as the girl in the cubicle beside Dean's. "I didn't want to make a scene and get kicked out of the hospital."

The blood on his hands- which was now also in his hair- made his skin crawl. He shivered at the thought of once again being stained with his little boy's blood. _Never again. Never again…_

"C'mon and sit." Bobby gently pushed John to where the boys were, sitting him next to Sam.

That was exactly where John wanted to be; where he _needed_ to be. He wiped as much blood off of his hands as he could before resting one on the back of Sam's neck. It was hot. Not fever hot, he didn't think. And that only meant one thing.

A soft sob confirmed it.

And suddenly, John was back in the woods. He saw the fear in Sam's eyes that he hadn't noticed at the time. It was more than just selfish, wonton fear. More than the fear of accidentally killing a stranger. Much more than the fear of too much blood and unnatural angles. That looked like the fear of losing someone special; losing family. _Did he know then? Has he known all along?_

"Sammy?" John called quietly, acutely aware of the way his son was shuddering and trying to stop crying. _You don't have to put up a brave front, kid. I know you're not okay. None of us are._

It took a few seconds, but eventually, Sam lifted his head to look at his father. He swiped an arm across his reddened, glistening, dinosaur brown eyes and John couldn't breathe. His mind was busy with something else.

'Sammy!'

John remembered standing beside the love of his life, who was still in the hospital bed and holding a brand new Sammy, all wrapped up in baby blue. He couldn't help but grin at his little trooper, all smiles and life, bouncing with anticipation, inches from meeting his brother for the first time. He'd been so excited to have a baby brother that it was all the babysitter could do to keep Dean in the waiting room while John and the medical team helped Mary through the worst of her labor.

Luckily, Dean hadn't escaped before Sam was delivered. He burst into the room just after Mary was covered up and the new baby was whining softly in her arms. The babysitter, looking flustered and winded, was hot on his heels, but John assured her it was okay. He paid her and she went home, looking very relieved.

John didn't let Dean onto the bed right away. He sat him down in one of the plastic chairs and knelt to look him in the eye. 'Dean, you are a big brother now. Your little brother needs you to look out for him, okay? So don't hurt him or scare him. You have to protect him. Be _very_ gentle with your new baby brother.'

'I promise, Daddy. Does he have hair like mine? Is he gonna play with me? Can he blow snot bubbles?'

John smiled. 'He's too little to play right now. You'll have to wait a while and play at _his_ pace until he can catch up. And he doesn't have a lot of hair yet, but his eyes are brown with little green flecks, kinda like yours.'

'Brown?'

'Yes, Dean. Sammy has brown eyes just like Daddy.' Mary couldn't help but smile when Dean pouted.

'I don't like 'em.'

'Dean, baby, Sammy just has different color eyes than you. It's nothing bad. Nothing is wrong with him. You haven't even seen them yet.'

'Doesn't matter. Dinosaurs are green, Mommy. He doesn't have dinosaur eyes like me. We gotta change 'em. Put him back in and change 'em.'

'Y'know, dinosaurs were brown, too.' John remembered the amazed look on that innocent face; it was like he just told him the moon was made of cheese. And Dean believed every word of it because Daddy was smart and he wouldn't lie about that kind of stuff.

'Then… Sammy has dinosaur eyes, just like me?'

'Of course. He _is_ your brother.'

Dean practically bounced onto the bed so Mommy could _finally_ show him the newest Winchester. John had to help him the last few inches, though; four year olds weren't tall enough to make that kind of jump.

The love and fascination and pride shining in Dean's eyes was forever etched into John's memory; a tiny spot of light in his otherwise bleak memory.

'Hi Sammy. You're my awesome little brother.'

"Dad? Is Dean okay?"

John snapped back to reality and shook his head to clear it. Since Dean's kidnapping, John hadn't really noticed people's eyes unless, of course, they were unnatural. For the first time in a long time, he remembered that both his kids had 'dinosaur' eyes. He realized that he never told Sammy about 'dinosaur eyes'; he and his baby boy never really played with little plastic dinosaurs like Daddy and Dean had. His belly filled with regret. _Some father I turned out to be._ "What?"

"Is Dean okay?"

"He- uh, we- I don't know. They didn't tell me anything before they kicked me out."

"Is he _gonna_ be okay?" Sam asked, sniffing his nose. For once, he didn't care that he sounded like a little kid or that he may have accidentally blown a snot bubble or two. His best friend was _dying_ and there was _nothing he could do to stop it._

"I don't know, son." John squeezed the back of his neck and let go, taking his first deep breath since he found his boys. It wasn't nearly deep enough. "Sam, come with me." He stood and walked with his hesitant, confused kid to the other end of the waiting room. Bobby and that other boy didn't need to hear what he was going to say. They would undoubtedly hear Sam's reaction, regardless.

"What's wrong, Dad? What happened?" Sam asked fearfully, tears forgotten. All of his attention was divided between the gnawing dread closing this throat off and the devastated look on Dad's face.

"Sit." John waited until Sam's latest seizure passed before repeating himself so Sam could actually hear him. "Sit."

 _I'm a failure. I killed my son. How can I tell Sam now? How can I- how can he live with… Bobby will take him, if he needs to. He's family. If Sam won't stay with me, Bobby will protect him. He's probably safer with Bobby anyway. My track record with kids isn't…_

The pair sat across from each other in one of the small groups of soft-looking, hard-feeling chairs. John steeled himself for the upcoming riot; Sam had to be told. There was no alternative at this point. No matter what John felt, he wouldn't fail his littlest so massively ever again. "There's something you need to know. Something I should've told you for the past twelve years, and talked about every January, and every holiday, and every _day_."

"Dad?" The look on his father's face wasn't one he'd ever seen before. John Winchester was a rock. He was an immovable force that shielded his son from the worst of the world. Dad was Sam's safe place; it didn't matter that they butted heads a lot. When Sam needed Dad, Dad was there to help him. It didn't matter if it was help with a monster or a kid at school or a really bad mental health day; Dad was there and he _always_ made Sam feel better. _Always._

So seeing something other than confidence or affection or calm in his father was more than a little alarming.

The mask that took over Dad's face… It was shame, heartache, frustration, pain, fear, helplessness- it was loss.

 _Loss._

'What was your brother's name, Dean?'

'Why does it matter?'

'Because he's your brother.'

'You promised you wouldn't ask about my past.'

'You brought it up.'

'Yeah, well, I didn't mean to. I just- I forgot how much he loved oranges and- and I got this stupid picture in my head of him and me on some motel bed sharing one that our Dad gave us and- it's not important.'

'But he was your brother. He's _automatically_ important, Dean.'

'I know, I didn't mean- I didn't mean it like that. I can barely remember him anymore and it's… hard to think about him. I knew the kid his whole life and he couldn't even talk by the time- …Sorry.'

 _It was a squishy motel bed._ Sam's eyes got wide and he felt his jaw fall open a bit at the sudden realization. _And an orange. A sticky, wet orange._

 _Dean's leg, his laugh._

 _It was Dean._

In that instant, his night terrors made sense. If all that he'd been told by Dean, Dad, Winthrop, _everyone_ was true then… Dean was taken from a motel room after saving his baby brother. After saving _Sam._

 _He saved me. He was so little and he saved me. He- he saved me from…_ Sam felt his whole body go numb with shock and disbelief. _From his life._

John had been trying to find the right words and failing. It felt like all he did was fail nowadays. _How the hell am I going to tell Sam he has a-_

"Dean is my brother." Sam breathed, so softly that John almost didn't hear it. "I have a brother. A big brother." Slowly, Sam turned to look at his father, eyes as wide and innocent as the day he was born.

John's heart pounded harder, his hands sweated worse than before, his chest tightened up, preparing for the explosion that never came. His baby just looked at him, seeking confirmation. John had to force the words out past the lump in his throat. "Got it in one."

* * *

"Mr. Valent?" A very young nurse in some very bright scrubs stood in the entrance to the hall behind the desk, looking very somber.

John was up in an instant. He left Bobby to watch Sam and Cas, who had fallen asleep in the hard ER waiting room chairs.

He couldn't believe how well Sam took the news; the kid had a thousand questions, but not once did he throw John's mistake in his face. Now, he wasn't quiet by any stretch of the imagination; Sam was pissed, hurt that Dad kept it all from him, but he never accused Dad of being a bad parent. John knew that somehow, Sam understood why he did it. He didn't approve, but he understood. Sammy was sharp like that, and always so much more in tune with John than John cared to admit. His youngest was sensitive and sometimes John was sure he knew exactly what was going to happen in their arguments. Sam could read him like a book, but it was a two way road. Even though Sam was a bit of a tough read, John knew how to take care of every bit of that kid.

So, when the time came, the father knew the chick flick moment was going to happen. That it _needed_ to happen. He knew his littlest was comforted by physical contact; that silent hug lasted a long time and seemed to stifle the worst of the sniffles. It wasn't long after that when Sam fell asleep leaning on John's shoulder and John moved them back to the corner with Bobby and No Name. The kids must've been exhausted. John was just glad they felt safe enough to sleep at that point.

John wasn't sure he'd be sleeping anytime soon. He didn't like the look on the young nurse's face.

"How is he?"

"There wasn't much we could do."

* * *

 **A/N: Don't hate me, but... I'm gonna make you guys wait a whole eight hours or so for the next chapter. This cliffhanger was too big to teeter on for a whole week. So I'm kinda nice, right? Leave me words! I want to read your reactions!**

 **See you in about eight hours...**


	36. I'll Fight Hell to Hold You

**A/N: Vivi here, as promised.**

 **Same old warnings.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John wasn't sure he'd be sleeping anytime soon. He didn't like the look on the young nurse's face._

 _"How is he?"_

 _"There wasn't much we could do."_

* * *

John's entire world ground to a silent halt. Everything froze.

He couldn't breathe.

Had he heard the woman right? There was no way he could've messed up that bad, not when he was so close to having his little trooper back. Dean was fine, he was just… just…

He was paying for his father's mistakes, and John felt like he was watching his life fall apart in slow motion. It was worse than when he lost Dean.

He _actually_ lost him this time. Permanently. There would be no wondering if he was still out there, no trying to find him, no endless phone calls and police stations and missing child reports.

There would be no hope.

Why did he tell Sam that Dean is… _was_ his brother?

But how could he _not_ have told him?

It felt like someone was cutting a hole through his chest; the void that held Mary's memories slowly started expanding, taking Dean and filing him away for some far off night when John could get drunk and not put Sam in danger doing it. The hole tore his son from him as if some werewolf had ripped his heart out; except being attacked wouldn't have hurt quite so much.

The same sickening helplessness he had in the months after he lost Dean… after he lost Dean the _first_ time came back with a vengeance. It filled his throat and crushed his heart. It trickled down into his stomach and flipped the thing around until John was ready to puke for the _hundredth time that day_. It clouded his brain and started leaking from his eyes. It tore at his sanity and left him feeling hollow. Empty.

 _Wait. No. Dean… Dean is gone? I couldn't save him?_

His knees felt weak.

 _He's gone?_

His hands started to shake and found their way onto the top of his head, twinned to keep him from punching a wall or accidentally hurting the short, blonde nurse. He gagged at the crunch of dried blood in his hair.

 _There's no way._

 _No. He's really gone?_

John closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

 _How did this happen? I- he was- if I had just told him or showed him the fingerprint results, none of this would've happened. This is all my fault. I put myself before my kids_ again _and look how that worked out. What did it matter that I wasn't ready for them to know? They were._

 _Dean was. And now he's gone. He died thinking I was trying to put him back in a living hell._

John's throat felt like it was closing. _How did it come to this? Dean… please. I didn't mean- I never meant to-_ please _._

 _Sam will know he lost his_ brother _because of me. Why did I tell him?_

 _Would it have helped? Keeping that from him?_

 _He deserved to know, whether or not I wanted him to. I put myself before my kids. It should've been me._

 _Why wasn't it me?_

"Sir?"

John's eyes opened slowly, the room blurry and way too bright for what the world just lost. He wanted to crush each and every light bulb with his bare hands, black out every window shining with light from a street lamp. The world had no right to do this. Not now.

"There wasn't much we could do. We started him on fluids and got the blood transfusion ready so the OR would have it when they needed it."

"What?" John barked, caught off guard and confused. _Why… why would the OR need it? Unless…_

"We sent your son right to the operating room, Mr. Valent. There wasn't much we could do in the ER. Dr. Rhett is here today, he's our best surgeon and he took your son's case; he just so happened to come off his break right when you walked in. I'm going to show you folks to the surgery waiting room. It's a lot nicer and the staff there are just amazing. Free coffee, too. Dean is in good hands, sir, and they'll update you whenever they can, okay?"

John finally caught his breath before stumbling, every part of him completely numb, to the nearest chair. A dizzy spell overcame him as he sat with his head in his hands; the frazzled father wasn't sure he'd ever stop shaking. It didn't matter if it was anxiety or relief at that point.

"Um… I'll just come back in a few minutes, then? We can head over whenever you're ready."

"You really need to work on your communication skills."

* * *

The only person to notice that the surgery waiting room was indeed nicer than the ER waiting room was Bobby. And that was only because it took him and John half an hour to convince the boys that it was okay to sleep and that the chairs were comfy and squishy and that they would wake them up if anything happened.

As soon as Sam fell asleep on one of the loveseats that lined the sides of the three-walled area, John was pacing. People walking by the open side of the waiting room sent worried glances his way, or did double takes when they saw him nearly break down. All of them hurried on their way.

The two other families in the room went totally unnoticed by John. Only when a nurse showed up in the doorway did he notice that they were there. The nurse called one of _them_ to report on the status of _their_ loved one.

John counted the minutes Dean was under the knife.

* * *

An hour later, Sam woke up and there had been no word on the boy's brother.

John heard his stomach growl before the kid was even fully with it. "Kiddo, how long has it been since you ate?" He felt terrible for not realizing before that point that these boys probably hadn't eaten in a long while.

Well, he felt terrible in general, but that made it worse. _Father of the year. Maybe Sam really should go live with Bobby._

Sam sat up and rubbed his eye with a groan. "I dunno."

"You don't know?"

"I guess it was at school."

John balked and went to stand in front of Sam. "You haven't eaten in thirty something hours." He stated in disbelief after a quick estimation. "That thing took a lot of blood and didn't give you _anything_ to eat?"

Sam shook his head and yawned. "Did you think he would?"

John held perfectly still as he waited for the seizure to pass. It was easier on Sam if he didn't notice them; he'd discovered that early in Sam's life. "You need to eat and take your medicines." John kept his voice as gentle as he could. Sam looked like he felt almost as bad as John did, mentally, at least. He probably felt a lot worse physically than John had in a long time. "And I need to get you evaluated in the ER. I want to make sure those wounds don't get infected."

"I'm fine." Sam said, sniffing his nose and looking over at the surgical reception desk, where an overweight receptionist was reading her second- or third- gossip magazine. "Did they say anything about Dean yet?"

John sighed and sat next to Sam, unable to look him in the eye. _This is my fault._ "No, squirt. But no news is good news, sometimes." He didn't believe this was one of those times, but Sam didn't need to know that. "I told you I would wake you up if they told us anything."

"Yeah." Sam looked with sad eyes to the ground at his feet. "Can I tell you something that might sound kinda weird?"

"Shoot."

"Don't get all worked about it, though, okay? It's not a big deal."

"Tell me what's wrong." John was suddenly on edge. If something new was wrong with Sam, he needed to know _now_ , before it got worse and lessened their chances of escaping the fang.

"Nothing's wrong. I just… I dream about him, Dad. For a long time now."

"What?" John was once again caught off guard.

"My- uh, my night terrors. Y'know…" Sam shrugged, trying to figure out the best way to explain it.

"The ones with the blue and red and brown things?" John asked. Sam had only told him about one of the dreams, so he was hoping that was the right one. He'd done months of research on it, trying to figure out if it was a natural thing or if some SOB had cursed his son. Turns out night terrors are sometimes the result of trauma. John stopped his research after that. Sam never knew about it.

"Yeah. But that's just half of it."

"There was more?" John asked quietly. Bobby looked up from his Styrofoam cup of coffee, silently wondering what was going on. The Winchesters weren't usually so… communicative. This was a rare occurrence, like watching a giraffe give birth or something.

"Yeah. Uh, eventually, after a really long time, the colors go away and I get fuzzy shapes of green and some brown- some weird blobs, but… I think I remember him, Dad." Sam looked up at his father when the man didn't respond. He looked mildly alarmed. "I remember sitting on something squishy, and holding something sticky and wet, and, with my other hand, holding onto something warm and stable. And that thing moved when I heard somebody laughing. It sounded like a… like a little boy."

"I'll be damned." John breathed, his mind a whirlwind of shock and shame and disbelief and pride.

He was going to take his boys on a _long_ vacation when they finally sorted all this shit out; he knew he wasn't the only one pushed to his emotional limit.

"Kiddo… That was every Friday night for us, before... before Plainfield."

"Plainfield?"

John swallowed hard and nodded. "We were in Plainfield when your brother was taken. At the Andover Inn. I'll never forget."

"Oh."

"Every Friday night, I would stay in from the hunt and we would just… be a family. I- I used to buy a treat for you two and rent a movie. You loved oranges, so of course your brother always asked for those. We would all sit on the bed, getting juice and fruit pieces all over the place, and watch some dumb kid's movie. Or something about animals. You loved those ones." John had to pause and clear his throat; Sam _did_ remember. Both his boys actually remembered each other, at least a little. It was almost more than John could handle. _Why did I hide him?_

"So… so it's real? My dream?" Sam asked hesitantly. He never expected Dad to confirm his dream. The most he thought he would get was a solid 'could be'.

Sam spent every waking moment of his life with his brother, until Dean was taken. Why was he surprised that he remembered the boy? He was just surprised that he didn't make the connection sooner.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." John had to turn away and collect himself for a good few seconds before returning to his littlest. Sam was hungry. Dad needed to make sure Sam ate and took his medicine. He should probably get some food into that other kid, too. "Why don't we talk more about this another time, huh? You need food."

"I don't wanna miss it if they say something about Dean."

"Aren't you hungry?" John asked, crossing his arms and giving Sam the Dad look.

"No…" Sam looked away and frowned when, just a few seconds later, his stomach growled again. "Okay, maybe."

"Bobby, would you take the boys to get some food at the cafeteria? I'll pay."

"I'm not leaving. I only just got my brother back and I gotta be here for him like he was for me." Sam insisted, standing and glaring at his father, the picture of teenage defiance. "He protected me and now I gotta protect him."

"Sam, now is not the time to-"

"What d'ya want, kid?" Bobby walked up with Cas, slightly unsteady from sleep, beside him. "I'll make a run."

Sam glanced between Dad and Uncle Bobby a few times before Dad shrugged and went to sit with his head in his hands. Anybody could tell that he was exhausted.

"Some kind of sandwich, I guess." Sam said quietly, dropping his gaze to the awful print on the carpet. "And water."

"John?"

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. You haven't eaten since yesterday. If you don't pick somethin' then I'll just bring whatever I damn well please and make you eat it."

"Surprise me, then." John grumbled into his hands, not moving.

"You comin' with me, kid?" Bobby looked to Cas, who took a few seconds to realize that he was being spoken to.

"Me? Wha- uh, well, I kinda…" Cas' eyes shone with something bordering on fear when he looked to Sam.

"Can he stay with me, Uncle Bobby? He's my responsibility. It's my fault he got into our mess and I don't want anything to happen to him."

"Damn straight it's your fault. _So_ grounded…" John grumbled once more, only to be ignored by the rest of the group.

Bobby couldn't fight the puppy dog eyes or the very mature sense of duty Sam felt because of his mistake in getting Cas swept up in their crazy disaster. He just shrugged, asked Cas what he wanted, and left.

"Thanks." Cas breathed, crossing his arms. It looked more like he was hugging himself than trying to put up a brave front. "Your family is really intimidating, y'know that?"

"I'm not related to Uncle Bobby." Sam went to sit near Dad, leaving Cas to wallow in his confused exasperation.

"No one is related to anyone but some of them might be and then there's that guy and…" He trailed off, going to join the little group.

"But we _are_ all family." John finally lifted his head from his hands and looked over the two boys with tired eyes. No matter how frustrated Sam made him, John knew it wasn't the kid's fault. This situation was hard on everyone and his son was just reacting in the only way he knew. John had no right to snap at him. But Sam _would_ be grounded until his eighteenth birthday, at least. Probably. "Because family doesn't end with blood, right, squirt?"

"It's _Sam_. But, yeah." Sam turned to address Cas. "Dad always says it's the bond that makes a family, not the genes. So even though I'm not related to Uncle Bobby, he's still family."

Cas frowned and felt a heavy sadness fall over him like a wet blanket. He decided to admire the swirling blues and greens of the carpet as he spoke. "I have blood relatives who won't speak to me just because my father married a woman they didn't like. The last time I talked to them, they made it seem like I should've stopped him. I was just a kid. I still _am_ a kid, even nine years later."

"Do you mean Sadie?" Sam asked quietly. "They thought you should've convinced your dad to dump her?"

"Yes and yes."

"And they won't even talk to you now that your dad and Sadie are both gone? They just _abandoned_ you?" Sam almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was starting to think that Dad protected him from a lot more than just monsters; Dad kept so many hard truths from shattering his son's innocence that it was starting to blow his mind. Dad managed to let him stay a kid for much longer than most parents could dream of given their line of work.

"It's just me. I haven't heard from anyone since Dad's funeral. Well, wait- no, that's a lie. I haven't spoken to any of them since my older brother tried to force me to sign over Dad's estate. He was the last family member I spoke to."

"You have a brother?" Sam almost smiled. He was glad he didn't.

"Yeah. Four, actually, and two sisters… well, they're all half-siblings. They're a lot older than me. We all have the same dad but there are… four, I think. Four mothers between us. Dad told me once that he could never find just one woman with everything, so he shopped around. Told me my mom was the one, but… they couldn't stop the bleeding. I almost died, too; I was blue when I was born. None of Dad's exes liked Mom, so I didn't even know about four of my siblings until Dad's funeral." Cas shrugged and let loose a deep sigh. "No one really liked Dad either, I guess, except me. He burned a lot of bridges, paid a lot of child support. But he told me all the time that I was his pride and joy and he loved me more than anything. Even Sadie. I guess my relatives came to the funeral hoping that they were included in his will. Imagine my surprise when my lawyer pulled me aside and told me to stay in his _locked_ office while he read my father's last will and testament to everyone. That man probably saved my life. My family… they weren't happy about everything being left to an emancipated fifteen year old without supervision. That's why I'm living in Temple now. So none of them can find me and… _do_ things. If they wanted to talk, they could call my lawyer and he'd transfer the call. He told me that was the only safe way to communicate with them. They can't track the call if it's through _his_ phone system."

"Dude." Sam breathed, unable to form any more appropriate words. For so long, Sam thought his life was hard. Moving all the time, being hunted by vampires, having Dad breathing down his neck about school and safety. But Dean and Cas… Sam realized that he had a pretty awesome childhood. Because he had a pretty awesome Dad.

"Who do you live with, then?" John asked, visibly concerned. He was a strong supporter of the notion that a child should be _raised_ , not trained or ignored or turned away like some animal. "Who takes care of you? Who protects you?"

"I live by myself. Got an apartment and a bike. My- uh, my caseworker stops by every so often to check up on me, but other than that, I do all my own caretaking." Cas shrugged and sniffed his nose, finally looking up from the carpet to meet John's eyes for a brief moment. "I'm fine."

"It's not _fine_ to force a child to live by himself." John said firmly. "You don't have _anyone_ to go to?"

Cas shook his head and leaned back in his chair, eyes downcast. "I don't have a somebody like you and Sam. I- I can't get too close to people. They either get mean or too friendly once they find out you have money." He huffed a humorless laugh. "Sometimes I wish Dad would've just left the money to everyone else and let me go into foster care."

"You needed a parent." John stated simply, understanding exactly what the boy was trying to get across. "You needed support and no one was there for you. No one stepped up to help you."

"Why would your family just abandon you like that? You were the one with all the money. Didn't they fight over getting to take care of you?" Sam asked, confused once more.

Cas frowned. "Money is a dangerous thing, Sam. Most of my family is shockingly greedy and also, not surprisingly, very rich. But then, uh, two of my half-siblings are kinda lower middle class, and my brother is awesome, but our sister hates me. Their mom wouldn't take me in, even though she said she really wanted to, because having money like that would make all of them a target for the rest of the family just like I was. And everyone else just wanted the money; they applied to adopt me, but not one of them passed the tests. So my emancipation held and now I'm here."

John groaned and scrubbed his face with one hand. "With a vampire chasing you and four hunters trying to play keep-away. Sounds like you've got shit luck, kid." He turned to look at Cas, whose face and eyes were reddening. John felt bad. He shouldn't have been dragged into their problems. He was just a kid. Still just a scared little boy.

"You're tellin' me." Cas pulled his legs up onto his chair and held onto them like he was shielding himself from the world.

"We'll get you through all this. You'll just have to trust us." John ran a hand through his hair. He gagged again when his fingers hit dried blood _again_.

Sam had a thought. "Hey, Dad? What if we were Cas' somebodies?"

"What?"

"Can we be Cas' somebodies? Like the family he needs?"

John simply took in his son's words for a few seconds. The kid was a bleeding heart. The world needed more people like Sam.

Dad's smile was small and weary. "Everybody needs somebody. What's another teenage boy to keep an eye on?" After a deep breath, he released an almighty sigh. "But, kiddo, that's not my decision to make. All parties have to be in favor."

Sam frowned and thought for a moment before turning to Cas. "Is that okay? If we're your somebodies?"

Cas just stared at him for a while. _There's no halfway with this kid, is there?_ "Why? Why do you want to do that? You don't even know me."

"Because you need a somebody. _Everybody_ needs somebody."

"Is that it? That's the only reason?" Cas asked, his expression very skeptical. They knew he had money, now; he'd gone outed himself to the only person he could probably reliably call a friend. What if the Winchesters turned out to be just as bad as most of his family? This could very well be a trap.

"Yeah. Do you need another one, er…?"

"Sammy, what did he just talk about? Why was he uncomfortable letting people get close to him? Think about it." John leaned over and spoke quietly into Sam's ear, trying to help the confused boy out.

"We don't want your money." Sam's face reflected his disgust when he finally put the pieces together. "We're doing fine on our own. Why would we need to steal from you?"

"So money has nothing to do with it?" Cas didn't mean to, but he let a sliver of hope shine through the sadness that was currently trying to suffocate him. He glanced between John and Sam a few times, finding no hint of dishonesty in either face. _I can have somebody to rely on again?_

"We don't really worry about finances, kid." John said with a tired shrug. "Money has never been much of a big deal for our family. We get by, we have enough, and we're together. That's livin' the life, don't you think?"

"Sounds nice." The words were so soft that had John not been paying attention, he would've missed them.

"You're welcome to get in on it, if that's what you want. You helped save my boys and that's something I won't take lightly." John watched a flood of emotions fly across the kid's face, very subtly. "I mean it. And if we don't gank the fang who took you three, you really won't have a choice. For a while, at least."

"Huh?" Cas felt a spike of nervous adrenaline hit him when the words 'you really won't have a choice' were spoken. He'd heard those words before and they _never_ boded well for him.

"Vampires remember people's scents for their whole lives. Winthrop has your scent now. He can track you anywhere and he probably will, seeing as you helped us escape. You won't be safe on your own anymore." Sam said with a twinge of regret in his voice. He looked away from the group, towards the hall behind the surgery reception desk. "I'm really sorry. I didn't think you would be in any danger coming over to help me with my homework."

John watched Cas' face pale about three shades. He was about to say something when the kid spoke up. "You better pass that class, then."

"The three of you aren't going to school until that fang is dead. Or at the very least until we're halfway across the country. I can't put you in the line of fire again. I won't." John's tone rang with finality. "As soon as Dean is stable, we're transferring him as far away as the hospital will let him go."

Sam felt his chest clench up again; he'd nearly forgotten why they were there, sitting in the uncomfortable chairs of a hospital waiting room. "How long has it been, Dad? Does this kind of stuff usually take so long?" He glanced at the hallway behind the desk again. It was just as empty as before.

"I don't know, squirt. I've never had to deal with a kidney injury."

"Dean's gonna be okay, though, right?"

"I sure hope so, son."

* * *

 **A/N: I didn't kill Dean! Surprise! And Mungojassie asked for more Cas backstory (which was already written but I thought I'd bring it up anyway). This chapter could be the set up for some future stories about our boys from this AU. We'll see how many situations I can throw them into that would make for good storytelling; let the brainstorming begin!**

 **Feel free to give me ideas, by the way. I love hearing from you guys.**

 **Leave me words!**

 **See you next Monday (probably)...**


	37. Dream On

**A/N: Vivi here! This is a long chapter. Didn't notice until I put it in the doc manager. Oh well. Guess you'll just have to suffer through...**

 **John's Boys has 100 followers now! I'm pretty pumped about that. Makes me feel like my writing is at least half decent. Thanks to everyone who followed this, and to those of you who haven't yet, it's a great way to keep up to date on all my random postings...**

 **Previous Warnings Apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Sam felt his chest clench up again; he'd nearly forgotten why they were there, sitting in the uncomfortable chairs of a hospital waiting room. "How long has it been, Dad? Does this kind of stuff usually take so long?" He glanced at the hallway behind the desk again. It was just as empty as before._

 _"I don't know, squirt. I've never had to deal with a kidney injury."_

 _"Dean's gonna be okay, though, right?"_

 _"I sure hope so, son."_

* * *

"No." Sam whined, resisting the urge to stomp his foot like a child as he stood before his father, arms crossed. "I'm not going. I gotta stay with you. What if they say something about Dean?"

John counted to ten and took a deep breath. _I love my sons. I love my sons._

Sam was like a gremlin. Feed him after midnight and he turns into a little monster.

Dad planted a hand on either of Sam's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "If you say no one more time, you won't be coming back tomorrow. Understood?"

"But Dad-"

"No buts. I'll call you as soon as I get any news. You have my word."

"But-"

"But nothin'. I'm your father and I know what's best for you. You need to go with Uncle Bobby and Cas and get some sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Sam, you fell asleep in the chair right after dinner. You're exhausted."

"Am not."

"Don't lie to me. You're seizing every few minutes. I _know_ you're tired. All I'm asking is that you get a few hours of sleep and come back first thing in the morning. I'll call when they update me on Dean's condition. Now don't be a pain in the ass; you're not doing Dean any favors sitting around in the waiting room, falling asleep every ten minutes. He's going to need you wide awake and alert when he comes to. He'll want to see that you're okay. Do you understand?"

Sam pouted. And he felt stupid for acting like a kid, but he wanted to _stay,_ dammit. "But what if he wakes up when I'm gone?"

"Then I'll call you and Uncle Bobby will bring you and Cas back right away. But, Sam, Dean's not going to wake up until tomorrow morning at the very earliest. And even then, he probably won't remember much of the first few hours. Anesthesia that strong isn't easy to come out of."

"What if Winthrop comes and you're alone?" Sam's voice was so small that Bobby and Cas, standing across the room on the way to the exit, couldn't hear.

"I'll deal with him. Look, Sam, I know this situation isn't ideal. Hell, it's not even acceptable. But it's what's happening and we need to do our best with it, okay? You'll be back here in less than eight hours anyway. I doubt he'll be able to find us in that time; you said Dean was mostly okay when he was in the truck, right?"

"Yeah, he was talking and he could walk a little on his own."

"And the vamp doesn't know you made it off the college campus, right?"

"I don't think so."

"Then there's a good chance he and his cronies aren't even looking at nearby hospitals. He doesn't know I have you back, so even if he _is_ checking clinics, the profile he'll be looking for will be wrong. He's not going to get far looking for a teenager brought in by other teenagers. It's not like he can search every room of a crowded hospital." John gave Sam a tiny smile and squeezed his shoulders. "Those monsters aren't going to get their hands on you boys ever again."

The fight went out of Sam; his father always knew how to make him feel safer, even if Sam didn't want him to. "You promise you'll call when they tell you about Dean?"

"You'll be the second person to know, bud."

"And you'll call Uncle Bobby if Winthrop or Lucy shows up, right? So we can come help you?"

"So _Uncle Bobby_ can come help me." John corrected.

"Whatever. Just… just make sure my big brother is safe, okay? I wanna grow up with him this time."

"I'll do my absolute best, kiddo. I promise. Now go sleep." He let go of Sam's shoulders and nodded to Bobby to let him know that Sam was going with them.

"Wait, I-"

"Sam, I swear, if you-"

"Just _listen_ , Dad. Just listen for once." Sam snapped, louder than he meant to.

John's smile was gone, replaced with a disapproving frown. Instead of returning the harsh tone, he simply waited for Sam to continue; maybe letting his talkative son talk a little more often would help him feel more respected. If Sam felt respected, John's life was immensely easier.

Sam, who had been expecting a shout or a growled command from his father, was surprised when all Dad did was cross his arms and frown. "I, uh… If Dean wants this, he can have it."

John looked down to see Sam's extended hand, with something resting in his palm. "The charm Uncle Bobby gave you for your tenth birthday? Why?"

"It looks tough, y'know? I think he'd like it. Maybe it'll help him feel better when he wakes up."

John took the charm and pocketed it, tousling Sammy's hair with a smile before the kid could dodge his hand. "I know it will, Sammy."

"Stop it, Dad." Sam blushed and hurried to fix his hair again, hiding the little smile he couldn't contain.

"Go get some rest. Keep your phone nearby just in case, okay?" John gently turned Sam toward the exit and gave him a gentle push.

"Okay."

"Goodnight Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"I'm your father. I'm allowed to call you what I want."

"Whatever."

"Go to sleep, squirt. Dean needs you sharp tomorrow."

* * *

John wished they would let Sam into the pediatric ICU. He could be strong for Sam, put on a brave face and act like he was taking the whole situation in stride. From the outside, John could usually be whatever he wanted to be: police officer, FBI, sympathetic parent, beer buddy, and so on. He would be anything if it meant keeping his kid safe and ridding the world of things that could hurt him.

But on his own? Beside that hospital bed? It was all John could do not to break down in tears or punch a wall or scream at the top of his lungs.

The nurse came out of the surgery suite a long time after Bobby took the boys to a motel for the night. He said Dean made it through all the procedures; it was rough, but they managed to stabilize him relatively early on in the OR and keep him stable until Dr. Rhett was finished. The nurse told him they sent Dean to the PICU, the pediatric intensive care unit, to start his recovery.

He also said no visitors except his parents were allowed into Dean's room until he woke up.

John called Sam on the way upstairs to the PICU and had him turn speaker phone on. He told them what he knew and told Bobby to keep Sam at the motel until John called with better news.

Sam didn't sound very happy but Bobby agreed to do his part.

So John just sat there in a cold plastic chair, feeling very numb and very alone.

The ventilator was a constant cycle of hiss and silence in the background. Just quiet enough to tolerate but loud enough to never be unaware of its presence. A kind nurse, one of the many on this floor, stopped in shortly after John arrived to turn the heart monitor's maddening beep off. John almost stopped her- he didn't want anything to happen while no one was watching- but the nurse assured him that they had another monitor attached to him in the nurse's station that would start blaring if anything were to go wrong. That was the first thing anyone had told him that made him feel even remotely better. Unfortunately, that didn't last long.

Hustle and bustle was a given at any hospital and normally, the sounds- talking, carts going by, people walking like elephants, angry beeping machinery from somewhere else in the PICU- normally that stuff didn't bother him. Sam had been in the PICU a couple times after seizure induced falls or injuries, and once or twice because something they were hunting got him. But Sammy was never unconscious when they arrived at the hospital. He was never hurt _that_ badly. They never stayed more than three days at any given clinic; Sam had never gone more than eight hours in the PICU.

The off-white wall paper in the room, complete with tiny, pale, vine patterns, was suddenly way too much to handle; it was nighttime after all. John got up as quietly as he could and turned most of the lights in the room off. He left just one: the very dimmest overhead light in the ceiling. It was dark enough to not cast noticeable shadows, but light enough that John could still see his little boy.

It hurt to even look at him. Not that he had any extremely visible injuries or anything; Dean looked almost peaceful in sleep. He was tucked in tight, a light blanket resting over the sheets, which John adjusted now and then as the building's heating system kicked on and off. The head of the bed was raised so that he could breathe easily without having to struggle against the mucus that was still in his lungs. Not that he was doing most of the breathing; the vent was doing that for him. The clear plastic tube that went down his son's throat was there not out of necessity, but because the doctors didn't want to risk _not_ having it during his surgeries; endotracheal tubes took seconds to deploy, but those were seconds that Dean, in his state at the time, might not have had to spare. It also kept his lungs from expanding too much; a deep breath would hurt like hell, since his diaphragm would have to push his kidneys down for him to breathe.

No, Dean was a sight for sore eyes to John. It brought a comforting reassurance to his mind to be able to _see_ Dean and know that he really was alive. But even being in his presence was a painful reminder of just how much John had failed.

He failed Dean when the kid was four and John couldn't stop his mother from burning to death.

He failed Dean when he was five by leaving him and his brother alone and open to attack.

He failed Dean when he was six and John let Bobby convince him to abandon the raid on that nest, while Dean was there, in the shed, yelling for his Daddy.

He failed Dean each year after that, each year that they weren't together, that John couldn't protect him, that Sammy didn't know he had a brother.

He failed Dean when he didn't immediately take him to the hospital after finding him, both in the woods and in the city.

He failed Dean when he didn't make his own son feel safe enough to stick around, to stay with his family. Dean ran because _John_ was keeping things from him.

He failed Dean when a vampire showed up close to home and he didn't know.

He failed Dean when he watched helplessly as the boy was thrown into that van.

And when _hours_ went by and he couldn't find either of his kids.

And when all three of the boys were bit; when part of them became _food_ for a hungry fang.

And when Dean nearly died because John didn't have the sense to figure that the van had left the city. He hadn't been able to drive fast enough to get there when Dean was still awake and coherent.

John failed his oldest son. Period.

He wondered if he should get that tattooed somewhere. But then again, it wasn't like he'd ever be able to forget.

Hopefully seeing Dean's smiling face every day until he moved out- and then still after that, but not as often- would be reminder enough.

At least the kid wasn't dead pale anymore. _Five units of blood_ , a whole two and a half quarts, had to be used to keep him alive. Dean lost so much blood that his heart rate was through the roof and the general surgeon wasn't sure if the natural pump would make it long enough for them to stop the bleed and keep the transfused blood _in_ his veins.

Doc said there might be some organ damage because there wasn't enough blood to supply oxygen to his whole body for a pretty long time.

John's heart fell.

Now, waiting mostly patiently at his son's side, John just wanted him to wake up. He _needed_ with every fiber of his being to convince Dean that he was his son. That he was loved. And treasured. And _wanted_.

But until those dinosaur green eyes opened, John would be there with one hand monitoring his son's pulse at his wrist and the other arm serving as a pillow while he rested his head on the side of the hospital bed, at Dean's good side.

"I'm sorry, son. I'm here now. Promise."

* * *

At first, John hadn't been sure if Dean was sleeping with the help of some heavy duty pain medication, or unconscious due to all the trauma.

Turns out he was sleeping, sedated.

And having nightmares.

"Shh, kiddo. Hey, I'm here. You don't have to be scared. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?"

It was already well after one in the morning. The father really hoped that his littlest was having a much easier time sleeping than his oldest was because if he had to deal with two- or three, counting Cas- pissy teenage boys tomorrow, he may well lose his mind. That being said, John chose not to call Sam when Dean started having nightmares. He'd call if Dean woke up, of course, but this new development didn't seem particularly ground breaking.

Definitely not as ground breaking as the meltdown John would have if Sam pushed too many buttons tomorrow. The man hadn't slept since Bobby forced that two hour power down on him back in Temple.

"You're safe, Dean." John frowned at the pain and fear that was etched onto his son's face. The kid was wriggling around- tiny movements, really- kicking or trying to bat at something every now and then, only to be thwarted by the tightly wrapped blanket. Dean was turning his head just a little at John's voice, but still seemed completely absorbed in whatever was scaring him.

A heavy sigh left John. He knew Dean hated to be touched, and he thought monitoring his pulse for so long would be pushing it, but there was nothing else he could do to calm the kid when he was unconscious and fighting against his own mind.

Sam usually felt better after some chick flick stuff, as long as they silently agreed not to talk about it ever again. Hopefully Dean would feel the same.

John ran his fingers through Dean's hair, gently and slowly.

"I'm right here."

It didn't take long for his son's face to relax, his body to go limp, and his breath to even out. Once again, Dean looked peaceful in sleep.

And John had his first tiny burst of hope. _Something in you knows me. You still trust me, even if you have a hard time admitting it to yourself. One day there won't be a doubt in your mind that you can rely on me, kiddo. I promise you._

* * *

A hand whacked John's head. Not hard enough to trigger a violent response, but enough to wake him from where he'd fallen asleep in the chair with his head and arms on the side of Dean's bed.

"Dean?" The father had his eyes open and his head up within three seconds. What if Dean was finally awake? What if he needed something, or something was wrong? What if there was something in room that he was trying to alert John to?

The seventeen year old was still sound asleep. His hand rolled back and forth under the blanket, knocking into John's arm shortly after it collided with his head. There was no one else in the small room.

"What are you looking for?" John wondered if that was even what Dean was doing; for all John knew, the kid could've just been trying to get his wrist out of John's grasp. Maybe he felt confined.

He was, but John didn't think he'd be able to tell while he was so deep in sleep.

Dean let his wrist be captured by John's hand. He stopped moving it, but the same pained, fearful expression returned to his face. This time, though, Dean's hand was clenching, squeezing whatever it could find in a kind of desperate, weak search.

For what, John didn't know.

"Hey, kiddo. Can you wake up for me?" John asked quietly, both watching and feeling Dean's pulse get quicker. "What's wrong? What's happening in there?"

It seemed like Dean was trying to breathe against the ventilator, his ribs moving automatically instead of from the force of the air pushed into his lungs.

"Calm down, son. You're safe here, no one's going to hurt you."

The clenching quickened and he fought harder with the machine.

"Just let the ventilator do its job, Dean. It's helping you."

His words didn't stop Dean from trying to breathe on his own.

John really hoped putting something in Dean's hand would calm him down. He had a feeling that the kid wanted his beads, but John didn't know where those were at the moment. So he tried to get creative.

The sheets, blanket, and hospital gown were already rejects.

John tried his own hand. As expected, Dean squeezed for a moment before releasing and trying to move away, the fearful look only growing more defined in his expression.

Gauze: rejected.

Remote: rejected.

Dry erase marker: rejected.

John's wallet: rejected.

Part of an extra pillow: rejected.

Looking around, John tried to think of anything else he could try. Maybe something that felt like the beads would work.

He couldn't find anything that would feel like four chunky little beads. Not even in the supply cabinet near the door.

"I don't have the beads, Dean. I'm sorry." John said softly, scrubbing his hands over his face while Dean's panic only seemed to get worse.

The thought that popped into John's head wasn't of his own creation.

'I, uh… If Dean wants this, he can have it.'

'The charm Uncle Bobby gave you for your tenth birthday? Why?'

'It looks tough, y'know? I think he'd like it. Maybe it'll help him feel better when he wakes up.'

 _Sammy to the rescue._ John reached into his pocket and pulled out the little tribal charm that his youngest had kept on his backpack for years. "I really hope this works."

Slowly, gently, John worked the charm into Dean's palm, careful not to let his fingers get in the way when the hand closed. For thirty tense seconds, Dean held onto the thing, his expression still just as heartbreaking as it had been earlier. But then, all at once, Dean relaxed.

John checked under the sheet. The boy was still holding tight to the charm, just as John had hoped.

* * *

"You think he's ready to come off the vent?" An older nurse with long brown hair held a clipboard and pointed at John with her pen. She'd seemed unconvinced when John told her that Dean was trying to breathe on his own. "We'll have Doc decide on that one."

"Can you call him, then? I can tell he doesn't like fighting that thing." John motioned to the tube coming out of his son's mouth. "And the doctor said earlier that he wouldn't need it for very long."

"Dr. Evan went home for the night, Mr. Valent. Dr. Leoncio is in now. I'll tell her what you told me." The nurse, Yolanda, turned and walked out before John could say another word.

"This is a shit hospital, kid." John grumbled to his son, who was still sleeping peacefully. The father looked his boy over and sighed. "We need to get you far away from this place as soon as possible. Won't be long before the fang comes sniffin' around here."

John would have liked to think that Dean agreed. But all he did was try to breathe against the vent again and squeeze his eyes a little further shut when air was forced down his throat anyway.

* * *

An hour later, Dr. Leoncio cleared Dean to be taken off the vent. She told him that Dean was her third stop of the day and she'd already been there for two hours. "This really was a priority, Mr. Valent. I had a surgery and a psych case to handle before I could make it down here. I wish the nurses could take the endo tubes out but this hospital has the weirdest insurance. I just don't get it most of the time. Anyway, would you like to be in the room when I take it out? Some parents can't handle the procedure."

"I'll stay." _I sewed him up. I think I can handle this._

"Suit yourself."

It happened fast. And then it was done. Dean took a deep breath and winced, releasing a pitiful whimper and a series of shallow, weak coughs. "He was on an inhaler, I take it?"

"Yeah. Albuterol, got it after his stay for pneumonia."

"Makes sense. Dr. Evan put him on IV antibiotics, correct?"

"Sure did. For the pneumonia and the chlamydia."

Dr. Leoncio frowned. "May I ask how he got an STD? He's only seventeen."

"He was raped." John returned the doctor's frown and that ended _that_ conversation.

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. The nurses will be by every fifteen minutes to check on him. Push the button if you need someone. And let us know when he wakes up. Should be any time now." Dr. Leoncio smiled- very stiffly- and left.

John looked at his son, who looked much happier now that he didn't have plastic forcing air into his body. "Hopefully we can get those infections under control before you're discharged. I don't want to know what those bugs were up to when you didn't have your meds."

Dean coughed.

* * *

The only downside to having Dean breathe on his own was that now, he could make noise.

John had fallen asleep again after a long conversation with Bobby about how the kids were doing. They were both asleep when Bobby answered, and doing okay, given the circumstances. Bobby mentioned that some of his contacts were reporting vampiric activity nearby, from a few days ago they thought. They seemed to think it was just one lone fang, but they weren't sure.

The pair agreed that it was time to fly the coop.

John let Bobby know, however, that the hospital wouldn't allow Dean to be transferred to a different hospital until he was awake and stable. Bobby had a few choice words about that, but relented once John told him that Dean could wake up anytime now. They wouldn't be around past three in the afternoon if he could help it.

And John was really hoping that the noises coming from his son meant that he was waking up.

But of course, that wouldn't be his kind of luck.

Dean was having another nightmare.

"N-nah, I- stop… lemme- lemme go. Please." The soft mumbles tore at John's heart. He watched the too familiar pain and fear color his little trooper's face, this time with a dash of panic added in.

"'m sick, st- stoppit. I don'- no, lemme- Da-"

"Dean, you're dreaming. Wake up." John called gently but firmly. "We need to go-"

"No, no, _Sammy_ … n- leave 'im- let 'im go. _Let him go!_ " Dean's shout made John flinch and the scared sounds and struggling against the sheets afterward didn't help anything.

"Sam's fine, son. He's okay." John said, tentatively resting his hand over Dean's, which still had a death grip on the little charm.

"I can't… Sam-my… Wi'throp's gonna… Dad's gotta…" Dean's nose wrinkled and his eyes squeezed shut even tighter, forcing a drop of saltwater out. He looked like he was weathering some intense pain.

John watched the tear roll down Dean's cheek as he struggled against the sheets and- for just a moment- his new shoulder brace. _Maybe he needs more pain meds?_

"Sam's safe. You're safe. I'm here now, and I plan to stay." John said, finally giving up on trying to respect Dean's wish to not be touched. Just as Dean started to mumble again, John carded his fingers through that sandy blond hair, gentle and slow. And Dean fell silent and still, but didn't relax.

And John felt like shit. "You never should've had to go through all that, Dean. I take full responsibility. And I'm gonna take care of you no matter what. I promise."

The father let his hand fall to the back of his son's neck, which he squeezed lightly in hopes of lulling his child back to into a peaceful sleep.

The action had the opposite effect.

* * *

Dean breathed in deep- not deep enough to hurt though- and let it out slowly. He waited for the onslaught of screaming nerves and burning pain to come, but they never did. His whole body felt relaxed, pain free. _Is this what Heaven feels like?_

 _Wait- is Sammy safe? Did Cas make it out?_

Most of his body was chilly; he had goosebumps everywhere. The only warm places were his face and the back of his neck. And the longer he waited, the cooler his face got; his neck stayed blissfully warm. _Really, truly warm._

Something on his neck moved, but it wasn't… it wasn't bad or scary, he didn't think.

And then there was warmth in his hair and his neck was cooling down. The soothing feeling had him frustratingly curious and all at once, he realized his eyes were closed.

It wasn't easy pulling them open. Everything was so blurry but not too bright. _Not a hospital, then. No blinding lights, no pain, no fear? Gotta be Heaven._

"There he is."

 _What the hell?_ Dean forced his eyes open further and blinked slowly a few times to try to get them adjusted and focused. He rolled his head to his left- realizing that he was laying down at the same time- toward the voice and blinked some more, taking comfort in the fact that the warmth wasn't gone yet. It was still working its way slowly through his hair, over and over, from front to back.

He was so tired. Why would he be tired in Heaven?

"Let's see those dino eyes, huh?"

 _Dino eyes? But…_

The room finally came into focus.

And then everything came into focus.

John smiled when his son's eyes locked on him, widening for a split second before the tension visibly rolled out of the kid's shoulders. "I'm here, son. You're safe."

Dean just blinked for a minute, staring at the one man he couldn't believe was actually there. _Not Heaven, but close enough. Dad to the rescue._ "Sam?" He croaked, coughing weakly for a few seconds afterward and wincing when a mild ache tugged at his side. _There's the pain. Haven't been out too long, then._

A grin tugged at the edges of John's lips. _Of course that would be the first thing out of his mouth._ "He's safe, too. He's at a motel with the other kid. With Cas. My very trustworthy friend is watching over them while they catch a few z's. It's just you and me right now."

Dean didn't know if it was John or some drug or a brain injury or something else, but he felt safe. He felt utterly and completely safe with the man he'd only known for a few weeks watching out for him. Even so, a simple nod was all Dean could manage in reply.

"You're in a hospital, Dean. Do you understand?" John asked, removing his hand from the kid's head and dropping it to rest just beside Dean's wrist, on top of the blanket.

Dean nodded again, closing his eyes for a few seconds to suppress a coughing fit he felt coming on. When he opened his eyes again, he found a set of concerned albeit relieved eyes looking back.

"The vampire hurt you. You lost a lot of blood because of a damaged kidney and your shoulder is pretty thoroughly screwed up now; got yourself a brand new, heavy duty brace. This is a hell of a lot harder to take off than the sling. Doc's hoping you think twice before ditching it next time. You missed a lot of antibiotics, too, so the doctor pulled out the big guns again to keep your bugs from getting superpowers while we aren't looking. And you're on the nausea med that doesn't make you crazy. Do you understand?"

Another nod. Dean remembered the man at the park kicking him; if he ever saw that shithead again, he'd make sure he suffered the same kind of pain. And maybe more. In his mind's eye, Dean saw the blood in the urinal and nearly growled. All that blood loss wasn't from Winthrop, though he certainly didn't help anything by taking a few sips. Dean knew it was his own fault his shoulder was messed up worse now; honestly, he was surprised that he could tell it was there at all. It wasn't completely numb anymore.

John swallowed hard, his grin completely gone and forgotten. "You, uh… Sam and Cas kept you safe until we got there, but by the time we figured out what was happening, you… They gave you five units of blood, kiddo. You were almost out when they got you into the OR so…" He sighed again, wiping a hand down his face and taking a deep breath before continuing. Dean needed to know what was going on as soon as possible so they could get out of that city as soon as possible. "Doc said the lack of oxygen might have damaged some organs. Not your brain, but…"

Dean nodded. He knew the consequences of significant blood loss, having been through it a time or two. Then again, he hadn't gone through organ damage those times and he really didn't know what that would mean for the future. _Oh. Gotta think about the future again. I have a future again._

"You understand. Good. Uh… They- you had surgery on that busted kidney. They managed to save it, so you still have 'em both. Fixed your shoulder, too, while you were under." John motioned to the bulky brace encasing Dean's right arm. "Tore a tendon, a muscle or two. It'll take a while to heal."

Dean rolled his eyes and grinned just a little when John smiled at the action he was so familiar with. "Sam told me what you did. You knew it would hurt like a bitch and wreck your rotator cuff but you did it anyway."

Dean just nodded.

John sighed, his smile lost. "I don't agree with what you did, but you saved three lives doing it. And I probably would've done the same thing. Especially for Sammy. I'm proud of you, but if you _ever_ pull that shit again, you'll be grounded until you're thirty."

That got a weak snort and a smile out of the exhausted kid in the bed. It was everything John needed at that moment. "We'll get you all fixed up, after we move again. But for now, we need to get out of this city. We took you to the nearest hospital, Dean, so we're only twenty minutes from that college. It's way too close for my liking."

"Why?" Dean's voice only sounded marginally better than the first time. At least he didn't cough again.

"Why? Because your kidnappers could still be nearby, that's why. I can't let them find you again."

"No."

"No what?" John couldn't figure out what his son was getting at.

"Why… why are you… still here?" Dean winced at the pain in his throat and the ache in his teeth and jaw. He was pretty sure he knew what that was from, and it wasn't anything terrifying; he'd been intubated before. Werewolves, and some hunters, liked to strangle kids who didn't follow every rule to a T.

John wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm not leaving you, Dean. We aren't going to let you go off and get hurt- or killed."

"But 's _my_ _fight_." Dean hardened his eyes and frowned, choosing to ignore the slur in his words.

John did the same. "Like hell it is. You are _not_ going near that vampire or that woman again, y'hear me? That's final."

"Not the boss a'me."

"Oh yes I am. I'm your father, dammit, whether you believe it or not. What I say goes. And I say we're moving far away and laying low until I can find those SOBs and end them. Without you or Sam within a hundred mile radius." John crossed his arms and sat back in the uncomfortable chair. "You two are all I have and I'm not risking my sons like that again."

"Really?" Dean asked after a long while of tense silence. The fight was slowly going out of his posture and expression even before he spoke. _You… you make it seem like I'm important, but… how can I know you're actually my father? All that other stuff could have been made up, or lucky guesses. I need solid proof. Something only Dad would know, or have. I can't keep living like this, not knowing if I belong. But… does it really matter if we're related? He makes me_ feel _like I belong. And he already treats me like I'm his flesh-and-blood kid. Maybe… maybe he doesn't have to be my dad to be my Dad._

"Yeah, really. The last time I screwed up that bad, you were kidnapped by a vampire whose mate I killed while there was no one to protect you. I should've _been there_ , Dean. I should've protected you like any half-decent father would have. You and Sammy were- and still are- the only reasons I get up in the morning. And I messed up so bad that I spent the next twelve years writing missing child reports and grilling hunters for any information on the vamp who took you or any nest that held humans or preyed on kids. I never stopped looking, Dean. You should know that I- I posted a missing child report in Orem, three days before we went after the wendigo. It took me _so long_ to find you…" John said quietly, unable to look at his baby until the very end of his rant.

Dean was crying.

And John felt even worse. "I'm sorry, kiddo, I never meant- had I thought for even a _second_ that you were in danger… I…"

"No, not that. Are you… really…" Dean swallowed hard and braced himself for the answer. "Are you my Dad?"

John's eyes started leaking, too, and he looked at the floor; must've been something in the air. With a sad smile, unable to look at his kid, he replied. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm the idiot who lost you. You're my little trooper."

"And I can handle anything."

John's eyes shot up and met his son's equally as shocked gaze. The kid had his mouth hanging open, eyes wide as saucers, face pale; he hadn't meant to say anything at all. The response was just automatic, something engrained in his very soul. Then, all of a sudden, Dean's face flushed bright red.

And John grinned wider than he had in a very long time.

"Oorah." The pair spoke at the same time, leaving John a sentimental mush of chick flick emotion and Dean a shocked, excited, amazed, shaking mess.

 _That's- how did he- but that was our thing. Dad and me, we used to- that was 'love you'. That was our thing, when he went out… How… There's no way. There's… there's no… Daddy?_

"Dad?" He exclaimed, louder than he meant to. _You found me? You really found me?_ The normally warm feeling that flooded his chest when Dad struck a cord with him showed up, but it was much hotter, and frantic, and almost painful. It was like twelve years of warm feelings fighting to squeeze into his ribs all at once.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." John said through the tears and the grin and the relief of _finally_ having his son back. Really, actually back.

Hopefully forever.

Dean had been away from his family for a very long time. He'd forgotten what he used to look like, what Mommy and Daddy looked like, and what the baby looked like. He lost his own last name and that of his brother. He forgot how Mommy died, and what Daddy's car was; he remembered spending _ages_ in the backseat, next to the baby's rear facing car seat. He remembered making faces at the baby when he got fussy to buy Daddy a few more minutes before he had a meltdown. But he forgot his brother's giggle, his laugh, and Daddy's voice was just a distant rumble. Anything that didn't have to do with survival was pushed aside to keep him alive, even if survival wasn't really living.

Sam's name had been Dean's biggest regret; he hated himself for losing it. But now that he knew the baby's name, now that he _knew the baby_ , there was just one more thing to ask. Just one more bit of information that he _had_ to know _._

The first words off of Dean's lips were not what John expected.

"When's Sam's birthday?"

"Why do you want to know that?" The question puzzled John and his smile was lost. Why on earth would Dean want the very first bit of real, tangible information about his actual life to be his brother's birthday?

"Cuz I spent twelve years… wondering what season he was born in." Dean had to close his eyes and breathe; he had a million questions but he was exhausted, still shaking, and he knew he couldn't hold on for very much longer. He had to get the most important information before anything else.

A small smile returned to John's face. _Kid never left his mind. He's a big brother, through and through._ "May 2, 1983. He's thirteen now."

"May." Dean's grin was huge. He _knew_ the kid was a springtime baby. The world was never quite so awful in the spring. There wasn't perpetual ice to fall on and crack your skull when anything- or anyone- shoved you. There weren't blisteringly hot days that left horribly painful burns on your skin after you spent the afternoon burying or burning a dead werewolf. There wasn't the ominous cooling weather that made you run inside before _she_ had a chance to realize you were back and lock the door. There wasn't any issue with sleeping in the shed out back; in fact, sometimes you'd just sleep, voluntarily, under the stars and wonder where the people who meant the most to you were at that moment. Because in the spring, there was life and there was hope for a better year than the one before.

"Yours is January 24, 1979. You're seventeen, kiddo."

Dean's eyes met John's again and a hint of true excitement shone through. "So… so I'm almost eighteen, for real?"

"Yeah. You're practically all grown up."

Father and son shared a lighthearted grin until Dean's eyes lit up again, his smile growing bigger than John thought he'd ever seen it.

"Can we get pie for my birthday? Like- like cherry, or apple?"

"Kiddo, we'll get both if that's what you want."

It didn't go unnoticed by John when Dean's eyelids started to droop despite the infallible grin. Try as he might, the kid couldn't work up the energy to stay awake very much longer. He couldn't stop beaming, though; this was one of the best days of his life. "You're the bes', Dad."

Suddenly, Dean became aware of something in his hand. The hand he could feel. "Wha's this?" With more effort than Dean thought it should've taken, he lifted his hand and opened it to reveal a small piece of metal shaped like a head. It looked familiar, but it wasn't his. He knew that much.

"Sammy left that for you. He thought you might like it, hoped it would help you feel better. He's probably had that thing strapped to his back pack for three years by now."

"I feel bett'r a'ready." He closed his hand and returned it to the bed, holding tight to the gift from his little brother. _My little brother._

"Get some rest. I'll keep you safe and I'll be right here when you wake up."

"I know."

* * *

 **A/N: Don't forget to follow and favorite! And leave me a review! Let me know what you think. I love hearing from you!**


	38. I'll Be There

**A/N: Vivi here! Haven't had much writing time lately but I have so many things I want to write. The struggle is real. And very annoying.**

 **Anyway, hope this chapter isn't too boring. Next one will have a bit more action (probably).**

 **Same warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"Get some rest. I'll keep you safe and I'll be right here when you wake up."_

 _"I know."_

* * *

"He's really awake?" Sam's smile was almost as big as Dean's had been that night. Bobby wasn't particularly eager to get up at the 'ass crack of dawn' to drive the younger two boys back to the hospital, but John promised coffee. That was seventy percent of the reason Sam was currently grinning like a fool in the lobby of the hospital.

"Not at this very moment, but he's not sedated anymore. We talked for a few minutes at… must've been close to four in the morning. He'll wake up soon and we'll get him transferred." John squeezed Sam's shoulder and gave him a small grin. "He'll be glad to see you, I'll bet."

"Can we just go already?" Sam looked to the elevators and was practically bouncing on his toes as he waited for Dad's permission. The nurses wouldn't let him into the PICU without Dad. He knew that much from his own previous stays; kids could only visit their siblings if parents or guardians were around.

"Lead the way, squirt." John chuckled when Sam groaned and rolled his eyes but headed for the elevators without a moment's hesitation. "You good to watch Cas while we're in there?" The father asked Bobby as the four of them entered the elevator.

The older man just nodded, his eyes almost as tired as John's own, and held up his coffee cup. "Think I can handle it."

"We won't be long, alright, kid? I'm hoping to have him transferred by noon." John said to his newest charge, who stood beside Bobby, hunched in on himself and yawning like it would somehow wake him up. "You can sleep some more if you want to. The chairs probably aren't as bad as the ones in the ER."

Cas nodded and, as soon as the doors opened, started to shuffle down the hall to a waiting room for family members of kids in the PICU. Bobby followed close behind.

"Thanks for doing this, Singer. Really. I know it's a pain, but-"

"John, I almost sold my soul for these boys. You think I wouldn't babysit for a few hours when your sons need ya?"

John simply grinned and looked to the floor, embarrassed, as he and Sam walked past their companions towards the big green PICU sign at the end of the hall. "How could I forget? Think I owe you a little more than just one now, huh?"

"Git in there, ya idgit. I'll feed this kid and get 'im settled while you have your first family powwow." Bobby nodded to Cas, who was already in the waiting area, in a chair, nearly asleep with his eyes closed. "Don't think he'll be much trouble anyhow."

Father and son made their way down the hall, Sam nearly jogging in his excitement. _Can't believe Dean is my brother. Can't believe I_ have _a brother. A big brother, even. And he's gonna be okay because_ I _helped him get away from the vampire who kidnapped him when he was little. Well, kinda. Still counts, right? Doesn't matter. This is gonna be great! We can practice together and go to football games and go see movies that Dad won't let me watch and he'll have my back when we hunt and I'll have his and Dad won't have to hover over my shoulder anymore because we'll have Dean!_

"That, Sam, is why Uncle Bobby is my best friend." John said as he walked with his littlest toward the PICU.

"Huh? Why, because he's babysitting?"

"Because he understands that everyone has to have someone they can look to for help."

"But you guys argue all the time."

"Sometimes friendship is more than just getting along. I can rely on that old scruff when I'm in it deep and he'd protect you- all three of you, I think- without hesitation. That's more than I can say for any other person on this little blue marble."

"Dean does that for me. He protects me and I protect him, too. So Uncle Bobby's your friend, kinda like Dean is mine?"

John paused just before pushing the button beside a set of massive doors to request entry into the PICU. _How many times has that kid put his life on the line to keep Sam out of trouble? I think we're gonna have to have a talk about safety. All of us. But not today, not until they get back out in the field with me. For now, Sammy and Dean just need to practice being brothers._

 _It's gonna take some getting used to, I think. Especially under circumstances like this. Guess that's my fault._

"Yeah. Just like that."

* * *

 _Warm, warm, warm_. Dean hummed in approval as he came around. There was soft fabric reflecting body heat back to him; it felt like there were more layers than there had been earlier, when he woke up and talked to Dad. He hated the crawling sensation of goosebumps; it reminded him too much of all the times he had no choice butto be cold. He didn't have to go through that anymore, though. He had a real, actual family now. One who cared about his wellbeing and would do something if he wasn't okay. His Dad would make sure he was provided for. His brother-

He had a baby brother. _Shouldn't be his job to take care of me. I'll take care of him. Me and Dad will keep him safe. No matter what._

"When's he gonna wake up?"

This time, Dean's eyelids didn't really have a say in how quickly they were pulled open. He knew that voice. And he _had_ to see the owner.

"Shh, let him sleep, bud. He needs to sleep so he can heal."

"Sammy." Dean smiled, fighting his eyes to keep their focus on the mop haired kid to his left. He looked good; the punctures weren't as red anymore, his skin was pinker, his eyes weren't bloodshot and full of fear, his face wasn't dirty… His clothes were still soiled, but the smile on his face kept Dean from worrying too much. _He's okay._ Relief flooded his tired body at the sight of that dimpled grin.

Well, that, and the fact that John was sitting right beside him. _John can keep Sammy safe until I'm better. He's gonna be okay now, for sure. No thanks to me. Draggin' a vampire right up to his doorstep… I was such a selfish prick staying that long. None of this would've happened if I'd just left when I thought I should've._

 _Did John kill Winthrop? I can't- what if he's still hunting us? Sam's could still be in danger-_

Sam let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding for the past few hours and didn't notice the relieved smirk that lit up his face or the fact that the same smirk seemed to leave Dean's just before he spoke. "Hi Dean. You're my awesome big brother. Dad told you, right?"

 _I'm awesome?_ Dean wasn't sure why, but the fact that Sam thought so highly of him brought a familiar warmth to his chest. This time, though, it was just warm and welcoming. Not at all frantic. It felt… right. "Damn straight."

"He's your only big brother, Sam." John spoke up, sitting forward in his chair so Dean could see him better. "He's your only brother _period_."

"How do you feel?" Sam ignored his father.

The most Dean could do was shrug. "Tired."

"But you've been sleeping all night."

"He just had surgery. It takes a while to bounce back from that, squirt."

"It's Sam." The kid practically growled before turning back to his brother. "So you're not… you're not in a lot of pain, right?" His voice became nervous as he glanced at the brace.

Dean felt about the same as his brother did about the thing. It was bulky, tight, jet black, and looked about as comfortable as it looked. At least it kept his arm in a position that had his newly repaired shoulder well supported and pain free. As for the rest of his aches… "Nah. I got the… good stuff." Dean said breathlessly before halfheartedly pointed one finger to the IV bag hanging over his bed.

 _What's- oh, right._ It wasn't until then that he remembered what the rest of his fingers held onto. Carefully, he opened his hand to reveal the tribal charm, grinning the whole time. "Thanks, Sam. I love it."

Sam's smile returned and there wasn't anything that could've made Dean happier. _There are those dimples again. Feels like it's been years._

"I thought you would. Here." Sam pulled a length of leather cord from his pocket. "I found a string for it."

"Is that the stuff we wrap old blade handles with?" John asked, impressed that Sam thought to use that stuff as a necklace cord. It was sturdy, strong, and lightweight; John couldn't have found anything better himself. In fact, the idea to find a cord for the charm never even crossed his mind; there was a lot going through it, after all.

"Yeah. Want me to put it on?"

Dean let Sam put the pendant on the cord and, as soon as it was back in his hands, Dean put the necklace over his head. The reassuring weight of the charm rested on his sternum, right next to his heart. "Fits perfect."

 _Maybe they won't need as much time to adjust as I thought. Good; then Sam can train, maybe learn some things from Bobby while Dean recovers._ "Alright, well, Dean, I know this isn't the best time, but we need to get you transferred as soon as possible. I'm gonna go talk to your doctor, see if I can get the ball rolling, okay?" The father felt bad for forcing his son to be transported when he was still so weak, but they had to get him out of danger. He'd never forgive himself if Lucy or Winthrop hurt him like this again. John would rather die than have to watch his boys suffer like that.

And he really wanted to live to see them grow up side by side like they should've been all alone.

"'kay."

"Don't tire him out too much, Sam." John stood and left the room, peering through the window in the door after closing it. The boys were talking already. Well, Sam was talking, but Dean was smiling, at least. The scene left a very overdue sense of peace in John's mind.

* * *

After nearly half an hour of very heated debate in the office of Dean's doctor, John won. He had to threaten to sign Dean out AMA- against medical advice- before the doc would even consider making a deal. Neither party wanted Dean to deteriorate; signing him out AMA would probably be a death sentence and the doctor didn't need to know that John _never_ intended to do that. So the pair settled on moving Dean towards 'home' in two stages. Two three and a half hour jumps between hospitals until Dean finally ended up at Sioux Falls General. The trips were much longer than the doctor felt Dean could handle without some serious medication, so he resolved to have Dean mildly sedated for his journey. That way he couldn't get worked up, the bumps in the road wouldn't hurt, and the time would pass in a blink. With any luck, Dean would sleep the whole way; at the very least, he wouldn't remember any of it.

Later that same day, the time did not pass in a blink for John. He sat opposite a very grumpy paramedic, Dean on a gurney between them, sound asleep as expected. The ambulance rode the highways for three and a half hours in complete silence. Bobby followed in the Impala, both younger boys none too happy at being put in a car _again._ They were, however, looking forward to getting cleaned up and sleeping with actual bedding under a roof that was safer than most of the dwellings in the country. Well, from unnatural beings, at least.

Sam hadn't been to Uncle Bobby's house in years. He hoped Rumsfeld, Uncle Bobby's Rottweiler, remembered him; he used to play with that dog until they were both splayed out and panting on the grass between the cars in the scrapyard. Dad didn't much care for the pooch, but he let him sleep with Sam after a few hours of persistent and shameless begging. From that point on, the pup was with Sam every night he spent at the old house.

Sam wanted to know if Dean liked dogs. He wanted to know _everything_ about his big brother, but Dad told him he'd have to be patient. Dean's recovery had to come first. Sam agreed.

That didn't mean the curiosity wasn't eating him up, though. He started a mental list of things he wanted to ask or talk about as soon as Dean was able. The longer he sat in the backseat of the Impala following the ambulance, the longer the list got.

John hoped their time at Mound Memorial Hospital, the midway point, would be short. Dean's doc had arranged for one of the doctors from Mound Memorial to check the kid over and bring him back up to optimal travel condition before they finished their journey. They were switching ambulances, too, so John didn't have to deal with the glares from that paramedic anymore. He didn't know why the man was in such a bad mood, but it was putting _him_ in a bad mood, too; what the hell gave him the right to act like that when both of them were there to make sure Dean's trip went as smoothly as possible?

 _Judge-y asshole._

"How much longer?" Sam asked, clearly just as grumpy as the paramedic by the time he was allowed to go back into the emergency department with Dad. Dean was being evaluated by the ER doc there, as planned, but Sam couldn't wait to get to Uncle Bobby's. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted Cas and Dean to feel safe, too, and they would at Uncle Bobby's house. He was pretty sure.

The pair left Bobby and Cas in the hospital's cafeteria to have a real actual meal before they had to take off again. Sam was glad that Cas seemed much more comfortable around Uncle Bobby and Dad now. He didn't know why, but it may have had to do with their conversation back in the surgery waiting room. It gave him hope that Cas would be okay after their situation was finally… 'resolved'. Sam didn't want his friend to be psychologically scarred like a lot of the people he and Dad rescued.

"I don't know, Sam. Depends what the doctor says Dean needs."

"He's still okay, right?"

"I'm not the expert, kiddo. He seemed fine on the ride over, though. Nothin' bad happened."

A few minutes later, Dean's new doc pulled John aside and filled him in. Dean didn't need much. He was doing better than the ER doc thought he would've been. The new ambulance was loaded up with the necessary supplies- pain meds, IV bags, the works- and its occupants before setting off just two hours later.

* * *

The family snore.

Both of John's boys had it. Granted, they only snored when they were sick, but still. The father could identify either of his kids by that snore any day. He didn't like that both of his kids were sick, but at least they were there, with him, in one piece.

He could handle the rest.

Sam snoozed in a chair against the wall most of that evening while he and John waited for Dean to come out of his sedation. Bobby and Cas had already moved on to Bobby's house; anyone could tell that Cas was on the verge of an exhausted breakdown. He flinched at noises that weren't very loud, spaced out while being spoken to, nodded off constantly, and had a wild, almost feral look in his eyes when he snapped awake. He didn't fight when John sent him and Bobby out of the room and to the car.

That left John to watch his sleeping pups, his mind otherwise free to roam at its leisure.

A soft snort and gentle grin crossed his features as he sat beside Dean's bed, where he could keep an eye on both boys. _Three weeks ago I was hunting a wendigo with my 'only' son. Now I have two sons again- well, three at the moment. I never would've thought._

 _But I have my oldest son again. I actually get to raise my little trooper. Sam gets to grow up with his brother._

 _It's all I've ever wanted._

John almost didn't notice when Dean's eyes slid open slowly, heavily. "Welcome to Sioux Falls General, kiddo." His smile grew as Dean yawned and stretched out his good arm, laying it on his stomach before turning to look at his father, his head plopping back into the pillow once the man was in view.

"Hmm? Where?"

"Sioux Falls General Hospital. In Sioux Falls, South Dakota. This is Bobby's hometown, and where we'll be staying until you make a full recovery."

"Huh. Never been to South Dakota. Where's Sammy?"

John nodded across the room to where Sam was in one of his classic, very uncomfortable yet somehow tolerable positions, sleeping and snoring in a plastic chair.

Dean looked over smiled at the kid, a light coming to his eyes that John only ever saw when his oldest was around his littlest. "How can he sleep like that?"

"Raw talent." John chuckled. "You seem to have more energy now. How are you feelin'?"

Dean took a deep breath and shrugged, looking back to his father, the smile gone. "Sore. Stiff. Fuzzy. A little dizzy. Mostly tired. But I can breathe easier now."

"Doc said your body might take a few hours to adjust to the surgery and the meds and all that. She said you're doin' good, especially after our seven hour, cross-country tour earlier."

The kid rolled his eyes. "That sucked."

Concern flashed across John's face. "Were you- were you awake for any of it? They said you wouldn't feel anything."

"No, I was out, but they gave me the medicine in a huge fucking needle. Thing was basically a spear."

John was relieved and wanted to laugh. He was barely able to restrain himself. "Language, Dean. Don't go teaching your brother how to talk like that."

"He already knows, but he didn't get it from me." A mischievous smile lit up Dean's face and John couldn't help but join him.

"Yeah, well. No one said I was father of the year."

"I'd vote for you."

That got a good humorless snort out of the older man. "Why in the hell would you do that? I mean, look at us. You're in a hospital bed, Sam's passed out in a hospital chair, we basically kidnapped that other kid, and my best friend is babysitting us while we hide from a vampire. From _one vampire_. And an abusive housewife."

Dean shook his head, his expression confused. "It was Winthrop and Lucy _and_ _Diesel_ , though. Didn't Sam tell you Winthrop was meeting up with his second in command when we escaped?"

"What?" _No way in hell this could get worse. There's no way._

"Winthrop only parked the van to go meet up with Diesel. He was gonna bring him back. That's when we got out."

"Who the fuck is Diesel?" _Guess it got worse._

"Language, Dad." Dean grinned briefly before the sober, demanding eyes of his father put him in his place. "He, uh, he's been Winthrop's second in command ever since I can remember. He was with him when they busted into the motel room. Diesel was in charge of me a lot of the time. Well, him and Nutmeg, his mate. But she was killed in a raid and he… he, uh…"

"He what, son?" _Don't you tell me he did something to you. If he so much as_ touched _you, I'm burning that fucker alive._

Dean swallowed hard and looked to his good hand, which was picking at the blanket laying over him. "Winthrop let him take his frustrations out on me. He blamed me for her death and beat me to a bloody pulp."

 _Oh hell no._ "He's gonna regret-"

"At least once a week every week until I was rescued."

John fell silent, watching his son's face and neck flush, his eyes slowly get red. The boy who had been warm and welcoming and relaxed just a minute ago became withdrawn and fidgety, avoiding eye contact. Like a wet blanket, shame settled over John. "Dean-"

"Can we not…?"

 _Dammit. He hasn't even been awake for three minutes and I've already shoved him down memory freakin' lane. Really need to get my shit together if he's ever going to start healing from all that._ "Yeah, yeah, kiddo. We don't have to talk about that now."

Dean sniffed his nose and tried to hide the fact that his eyes were already pricking.

"Hey, you hungry?"

Luckily, John's attempt at a distraction worked. He helped his son order some of his favorite foods from a little brochure that the hospital left in every room for when patients without a specified diet wanted something to eat. From that point on, they only talked about easy things: food, monsters that Dean hadn't heard of, embarrassing stories from Sam's childhood, some of John's favorite hunts. By the time the burger and pie arrived, Dean was back to his old self, laughing and reveling in the fact that he had a _Dad_. An awesome Dad who wanted him and would protect him and make him feel better no matter what. It was still hard to believe.

"Eat up, bud. I want all that to be gone by the time I have to take Sam home."

Dean went full deer-in-the-headlights just as he was about to take a bite of burger. "What? You're leaving?"

John sighed. He knew this was coming, but there wasn't much he could do about it. "I'm sorry, Dean. This hospital has ridiculously strict visitation hours and now that you aren't in the PICU anymore, they said I can't stay the night. Sam and I will be kicked out at ten, but we'll be back bright and early at nine tomorrow, okay?"

"But- but what if Winthrop finds-"

"He doesn't know where we are." John kept his voice low and soothing, urging the panic in his baby's eyes to subside. "We used fake names, we covered our scent, we even switched out the plates on the Impala. There's no way he'll be able to find us before we bust you outta here."

"Are you sure?" Dean whispered, a sickening tension building in his stomach. "He's found me a couple times before with nothing but my age and my first name."

John rested a hand on Dean's good shoulder and squeezed. "Nothing is going to find you here. If it'll make you feel better, I can stay in the car outside all night long. I can see your window from the parking lot."

Nothing mattered more to John than his little lost trooper feeling safe while he was in such a fragile state. That outweighed John's own need for sleep, his hygiene, his comfort, his everything. If one of his boys needed him, he'd be there. As long as he didn't get permanently kicked out of the hospital, that is. If he refused to leave and had to be escorted out by security when visiting hours were over, then Dean might have to spend a few days without his father even being able to see him. John knew that Dean was at a much higher risk of being found and/or attacked during the day. The floors were open during visiting hours and anyone off the street could walk in and find him. At night, the floors were locked down and his little boy would be much safer. As long as the vampire didn't know _exactly_ where he was, Dean wouldn't be found.

Dean debated the offer for a few seconds before noticing the crusty, dark red flakes in his father's hair. _Ugh, that's so gross. Is that my…?_ "N-… no. That's okay. I'll, uh, I'll be fine. Just come back as soon as they let you, okay? Please?" He felt guilty for wanting to put himself above his father. The man needed rest just as much as he did, but being alone, now that Dean had a _family_ , was frightening. He didn't like being alone. Never had. He wanted his dad and his brother to stay with him until he could leave _with them_ , but that was selfish and he had no right to make them miserable like that. Even if it would make him feel two hundred times safer. He needed to remember that he wasn't the center of the universe.

The hesitation in Dean's voice pulled at John's willingness to leave- he briefly thought about hiding in the room, or filing a complaint about the hours, or fighting the nurses and security, or taking Dean home that very night- but he knew keeping Dean at the hospital would speed up his recovery to mere weeks instead of the months it would probably take at Bobby's house alone. The father _needed_ his son to be okay and the best way to ensure that was to have him stay in that stuffy, white room. Even if leaving Dean made both of them nervous.

"I promise. I'll be here every day, at the door, the moment they open them. And I'll be here every night until they kick me out, no matter how long it takes for them to discharge you." John leaned forward and pushed the tray of food closer to his son. "Now eat up. In my experience, pie can fix just about anything."

* * *

 **A/N: Leave me a review! See you next week (or possibly sooner, idk, I'm a wildcard sometimes)...**


	39. And The Healing Has Begun

**A/N: Vivi here! Sorry this is a day late. I wrote most of it within the last hour (and overwrote my word limit oops - guess you'll just have to suffer through it). I've been a little busy; can you tell?**

 **Also sorry if it's got errors or if it doesn't flow as well as it should. I did proofread, but it was kinda fast.**

 **Same warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"I promise. I'll be here every day, at the door, the moment they open them. And I'll be here every night until they kick me out, no matter how long it takes for them to discharge you." John leaned forward and pushed the tray of food closer to his son. "Now eat up. In my experience, pie can fix just about anything."_

* * *

Dean was in the hospital for a grand total of three days before his new doctor voluntarily signed his discharge papers.

John carried a massive bag of instructions, medications, and supplies while Sam, ever the proud little brother, pushed Dean's wheelchair to the loading area; the doctor made it very clear that Dean was to take it easy the first week _at least_. No unnecessary activity whatsoever. So Bobby and Cas were already there, right outside the hospital doors with the Impala as soon as Dean was discharged. For the first time, Dean was glad to see Bobby.

That afternoon was the first time Dean and Bobby officially met. John spent a while on the day of Dean's release getting the kid ready to go live with the man he thought was trying to take him away from everyone he loved. Much to John's relief, Dean didn't appear to hold a grudge against Bobby for scaring him into fleeing their house back in Temple. Granted, he was hesitant to speak or make extended eye contact with the man for a few hours, but the father felt that they were getting off pretty light if that was the worst they had to deal with after the events of the previous week. Dean got into the car with Bobby, let himself be taken into Bobby's house, and even allowed the man to put a blanket over him when he kept nodding off on the couch next to the drafty window.

Still weary and stretched thin from their journey, John could've jumped for joy when his sleepy oldest quietly thanked Bobby for the old bedding before returning to unconsciousness. It was hard to believe that Dean was willing to trust the man who up until recently had wanted to erase him from their lives. _This is gonna work. We're gonna be just fine, aren't we, kiddo?_

John never allowed himself to consider that his sons _wouldn't_ be fine. From the moment he got the boys settled on the couch with the remote and a stack of old movies to entertain them, he had his nose buried in research. Whatever he could get his hands on, any leads he could find, he analyzed to see if they could be related to the nest. When he wasn't at the kitchen table going over newspapers or reports and keeping an eye on the tired kids in the next room, he was outside on the phone with a hunter, trying to get intel on vampiric activity in the central United States. There wasn't much to go on. John figured that was a good thing.

To no one's surprise, Dean slept most of his first day at Bobby's house. Upon returning from a phone call with a hunter in Oklahoma, John found Dean sprawled out on two of the three couch cushions, Cas seated on the last, and Sam- and Rumsfeld- on the floor at Dean's head. Only two of them were actually watching the movie. A small mound of pillows and blankets had been stuffed behind Dean to help him breathe easier; John knew the boy couldn't have done that himself.

Seeing as it was already nearly nine o'clock, John set his cell phone on the kitchen table and leaned on the living room doorjamb, crossing his arms with a soft smile on his face. "Couldn't stay awake, huh?"

"Nah, he's been nodding off for like an hour." Sam said without looking away from the fuzzy Godzilla movie.

"At least." Cas agreed with a slight not. He didn't look up either.

"I'm not surprised. You boys have had a long day."

"It's been a long day for everyone, John." Bobby walked in from the hall and took a swig from a glass full of amber colored liquid before continuing. "Just finished puttin' the guest room together."

"I coulda done that, Uncle Bobby." Sam said, looking to the elder man. "You didn't tell me it wasn't good to go."

"I'll remember that next time. You can be in charge of keepin' it up, then. Clean up after your brother 'til he's sound again." Bobby grinned as Sam groaned.

"But it's not _my_ room."

"But he _is_ your brother."

Dean had the only spare bed in the whole building and John made sure the kid knew that he was to sleep in _that bed_ and that bed alone before letting the boys start their movies. Sam rolled his eyes at all the strict commands, but John made sure Dean understood why he was doing this before diving into his research. No spending the whole night on the floor or the couch, no matter how much he wanted to. No trading bedding or beds with anyone else, no sleeping flat, no sleeping on his stomach, no sleeping with that dirty mutt in the bed, and no late bedtimes. Dean needed to heal and sleeping in weird positions or at weird times wouldn't do him any good. Unlike Sam, Dean didn't roll his eyes. He soaked in the concern with a grateful warmth in his heart and promised to do exactly as Dad said.

So for the next three weeks, Dean slept in the guest room bed with Sam and Cas bundled up in their own nests of pillows and blankets on the floor nearby. And of course, Rumsfeld was at Sam's side at all times; a fact that made Sam feel right at home at their temporary haven.

Bobby hadn't planned on all three boys sharing a room- he thought they would want more privacy than that, having just recently met each other- but the trio meshed as if they'd shared a womb, so he was glad they stuck together. Safety in numbers. That, and there wasn't much extra space in his overly crowded, book and gear laden house for five mostly adult males.

John was on the couch every night. He insisted. Not that he had to push, but still. That was the best place to defend the house from. If they were found by any unsavory characters, he would have a few seconds to grab the machete or gun from under the cushion and retaliate before his boys were in immediate danger. He slept easy, however, knowing that Bobby had never been scented and that the older man flooded his property with saffron, skunk cabbage, and trillium ashes the day they arrived. He wasn't sure how Bobby got so many of the plants so quickly, but he wasn't about to question a good thing.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses, though. John was starting to remember just how much he hated that stupid dog.

"Get that thing off the table." John growled over his plate of eggs the morning after they arrived. The whole family was finally up and he'd managed to corral them all into the kitchen for a decent, home cooked meal courtesy of the homeowner himself. He should've known better than to let the dog back in after he went out that morning.

His demands were largely ignored. Sure, Sam would shoo the dog when John spoke up, but that old Rottweiler would be back no more than two minutes later every time. John decided to choose his battles wisely; no one was really up to arguing anyway.

Things were quiet for the first week. Dean slept a lot, John kept Sam and Cas busy with training- things Cas could do, at least-, and Bobby helped Sam hone his researching skills. Cas was curious about everything, but was hesitant to ask even the most innocent questions. After a few sessions with Sam, Bobby roped Cas in; even _he_ could tell the kid was dying to know more. Dean joined them when he felt up to it but usually ended up with an old book in his lap and a soft snore on his lips.

Most evenings saw John at the kitchen table, several nearby local newspapers in front of him, keeping a lookout for strange activity. He spent a good hour outside on the phone each night, going through his list of contacts, trying to find the fangs before they found his boys. Nothing could come between him and his boys and live; that was his resolve. And each time he saw Dean passed out on the couch, Cas on the other end, with Sam sat on the floor at Dean's side, all three of them holding dusty old books as they played Bobby's research-game version of 'Where's Waldo', the father's decision to go out alone to kill those SOBs strengthened. Those fangs would never hurt his family again. _They're mine._

The time was coming when John would actually get to start bonding with his sons. He just knew it. The terrified and frantic rush of the past few weeks couldn't have yielded the kind of connection the father had been hoping to have with his kids since Dean was born. There was too much pain stuffed into that brief, violent timeframe. Now, as the days wore on and his oldest began healing, John hoped to find out who his son had become in his absence. However, his hopes were sometimes far from his thoughts; his littlest, Sammy, had been acting strangely since they arrived and it was starting to worry the old man. It wasn't something specific that he could point out and pull the kid aside to address. His behavior was just… off. Sam wouldn't stand or sit as close to his father as he usually did; the kid was leaving a lot of extra space nowadays. He looked up every time John entered the room and had a look of mild worry in his eyes. The kid listened to everything John said and seemed to weight his words before speaking, which at first had John nearly jumping for joy – maybe the days of hormonal outbursts were over- but quickly left the father with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was very clearly off, but he just couldn't figure out what.

* * *

Everyone was restless after the first week, no matter what John and Bobby did to try and appease the boys. Castiel was the worst out of the bunch, constantly wringing his hands and quietly reminding the older men that he had classes that he was missing and he needed to keep up his grades so he could get into college. It made John feel bad to keep dismissing the boy's worries, but death was much worse than not getting into college. John was pretty sure.

That being said, John was already on his last weary, frayed nerve when Sam was the last to join them at the breakfast table one week after they arrived.

Rumsfeld, in all his Sammy-charming glory, had two paws up on the table yet again, begging the youngest boy for a slice of bacon. Sam was all smiles, practically giggling at the goofy look on the pup's face.

"Sam, get the dog off the table."

"He's not hurting anything, Dad."

John resisted the urge to yell, but it wasn't because of Sam. Dean was smiling at the old pup and anything that made Dean grin so innocently was hard for John to get mad at. Even so, John didn't want his youngest getting avirus, on top of the one he was just getting over, from the mangy hound. It was bad enough that the thing slept next to him; eating off of Sam's plate would be the last straw. "Off the table. Now."

With a soft huff, Sam flung a piece of bacon across the kitchen, prompting Rumsfeld to nearly sprint into the wall in pursuit.

The father glared at his son. "That's _your_ food, Sam. Not the dog's food. Don't do that again or you'll have another week added to your sentence."

"Not like it'll make much of a difference." Sam grumbled. He'd thought it was low enough to go unheard by the older men at the table, but he was wrong.

"Why's that?" Bobby asked from his seat next to Sam, where he too had a plate of eggs and bacon, made fresh before the Winchester clan even woke up.

When Sam didn't answer, John spoke up in his most mature Dad voice. "Sam lied to me. And did a few other things that he knows better than to do. He's grounded until further notice."

"Shame, kid. Can't keep things from your old man." Bobby shook his head and stabbed at his plate.

A bitter tension rose in Sam's chest. "Dad kept Dean from me for twelve years." His voice was dangerously controlled, pure acid and fire, the red hot frustration of a hormonally unstable teenage boy shining through. He felt his face get hot as he realized just how unfair his situation was. "Why the hell shouldn't I keep things from him?"

"Sam." John warned, locking eyes with his littlest. _Don't make a scene in front of everyone. Dean and Cas need to eat. If you screw Dean's rating schedule up again, I'm gonna be beyond pissed._

"It's not fair!" Sam shouted suddenly. While no one but Dean was looking, Rumsfeld's tail fell between his legs and he backed away from the table a few feet. "Why am I grounded for something that you've done my whole life?"

"That's enough." John snapped, pointing his fork at the boy. "What I did was wrong but that doesn't make what you did right. Lose the attitude."

"You bet your ass you were wrong."

"Sam, cool it." Dean said quickly, tired of the arguing already. "You know why he did that. He was protecting you. And you're scaring Rumsfeld."

Sam's eyes lost their fight and he turned to check on the pooch. As soon as they made eye contact, Rumsfeld's tail started wagging and the dog looked cautiously from Bobby to Sam a few times. "He's fine. And I'm fine. Dad should've told me; I could've handled it." Sam returned to shooting eye-daggers at his father.

"Yeah, well, Dad should've done a lot of things. Nobody's perfect. Move on already. It's not like it was that big a deal."

 _Ouch._ John frowned, releasing a heavy sigh. _He shouldn't have to mediate like that._ "It _is_ a big deal, Dean. But shouting about it isn't going to fix anything, is it, Sammy?"

"It's _Sam_." The kid practically growled his name.

John's eyes narrowed. _You know better than to disrespect your old man, kid._ "Outside. Now."

Sam stood, knocking over his chair in the process, and stormed out the front door before slamming it behind him. The rest of the table just sat in stunned silence until someone broke the eerie quiet.

"He's in trouble, isn't he?" Dean asked quietly, feeling guilty for not trying harder to diffuse the situation.

"Yes." John stood slowly and followed Sam, trying to ignore the sensation of eyes boring holes into the back of his skull.

Outside, Sam was nowhere to be seen. However, John knew exactly where the kid would be soaking in his own angst. Near the back of the property sat an old junker of a car. It had been there since John met Bobby, and long before that; roots from the tree growing next to it wove in and out of the tire's rims and anchored the thing in place.

Sammy used to play back there for hours, all by himself, until dinnertime when John had to hunt him down and tear him away from his imagination. If there was one place in the whole property Sam would go to get away from his father, it would be there.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I'm your father. It's my job to take care of you and keep you safe, not make you happy."

"You're Dean's father, too. Why didn't you take care of him?"

A heavy sigh left John's lungs and he leaned against the side of the car, hands in his pockets. He couldn't see Sam; he wasn't in the vehicle, but John didn't think he would be. The kid had a knack for climbing trees and, from the sound of him, was already high in the old maple. "We talked about this, Sam. At the first hospital, remember?"

"I remember."

He wanted so badly to roll his eyes. "What's gotten into you lately? It's not like you to act out in front of other people like that. Usually it's just you and me. Are you still feeling off from missing all those doses? Is it because you're sick? Are you trying to drive me to an early grave?"

"It's somethin' else, mostly."

"Then help me understand before my patience finally calls it quits. Dean gets stressed when we fight like this and he doesn't need that kind of treatment right now. He's healin' up good and we're not gonna mess with that."

"I didn't mean to…"

"What's this about, Sam? What's this _really_ about?"

"It's… I just…" Sam paused, struggling to gather his thoughts as he sat on a branch about ten feet off the round and leaned back against the trunk, fidgeting with a hangnail in his lap. "You- you lied to me for a really long time, Dad."

John remained silent; he didn't know what to say anyway.

"I'm just… I'm just having trouble figuring out how to act around you again."

 _That would explain the weird behavior._ "What do you mean?"

"I have a _brother_ you never told me about. I just found out that I literally have twice as many family members as I thought I did. Like, I'm in trouble for lying to you about my seizures and I get why I'm grounded for that because you're a health nazi about that kind of stuff. But why aren't _you_ in any kind of trouble for lying to me- to _everybody_ about Dean?"

"Sam, I didn't lie to anyone about Dean. I just… didn't tell them the whole truth. I didn't tell you _anything_."

"Isn't that the same thing as lying? I didn't tell you about my seizure-sense and you still say I lied. And I'm still grounded."

John sighed and ran a hand down the side of his weary face. "Look, Sammy, I never meant to erase Dean from your life but growing up an only child seemed like it would be easier on you than knowing you had a brother who was taken, okay? I didn't want the same bitterness and regret that haunts me to start up in you, too."

"I have it now anyways."

"Yeah, I know. I tried. I failed. Story of my life."

"Dad…"

"What is it, kiddo?"

"You didn't really _fail_. You just messed up. Everybody messes up sometimes. It's not like you… I don't know. Gave up on us after Dean got kidnapped. You still raised me and kept looking for him. And we turned out okay, I think. We're not super messed up like some of the monsters we've killed."

"So now you're trying to tell me my parenting is better than a chupacabra's?" While he was able to keep the tears and relief out of his voice, John couldn't keep them off his face. Luckily, Sam couldn't see him- he didn't think- and humor was the only thing ringing in his tone.

"Exactly." Sam practically chuckled, a big smile lighting up his face. "I mean, if Dean grew up with me and had you the whole time, he probably would be even more awesome than he is now, but I like him the way he is, y'know? And I think I'm doing pretty good, even if you don't think so."

Confusion swept over John. "Why would I think otherwise?"

"Cuz I don't wanna go to college."

John sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Sam, I'm not gonna force you to go to college, okay? I just want you to be able to go if you decide you want to sometime down the road. If you ditch the schoolwork now, you'll never stand a chance in the application pool."

"So… so I don't actually have to go? I just gotta get good grades?"

"That's all I'm asking."

Sam giggled softly. "Then why are you keeping us out of school?"

"Really, Sam?" John groaned. Sam knew exactly why- because they were being hunted by bloodthirsty vampires and one nutty housewife- but the little snot still felt it necessary to make a joke out of it.

"I'm kidding, Dad. Don't pop your top." Sam was quiet for a few seconds. "Hey. You haven't like… blatantly yelled at me since we found Dean. I thought that was what was gonna happen when you told me to go outside, but you didn't. Why is that?"

"What, you want me to yell?"

"No. No way. I just wanna know why you haven't yet."

"Like I said before, Sam. I'm still figuring out this whole parenting thing. Dean doesn't respond well to any kind of violence so I've had to adapt. Figured the strong silence method might work on you, too."

"Oh. Has it?"

"As far as I can tell, yeah. I haven't 'popped my top', yet, have I? And you're not blatantly out of control, so something is working."

"I like talking better than getting yelled at."

John chuckled. "You like talking better than breathing."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"I don't talk that much."

"Whatever you say, squirt. Listen. Why don't you come down from that tree for a minute?"

Sam grumbled, but worked his way out of the tree, jumping onto the hood of the car before sitting on it next to where his father was still leaning. "What now?"

"You know why we're out here. We haven't resolved the issue."

"We came out because I yelled."

"Partly. But we talked about that."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You're not gonna go off on me again, are ya?"

"Not for a while, at least."

John rolled his eyes. "Just not in front of Dean, alright?"

"Deal." Sam started to get off the car, but John held up a hand.

"Hold on, now. We still need to discuss what happened to start all this."

"Huh?"

"You're a growing boy, Sam. Think you're even starting your big growth spurt. You need to eat your own food and leave that dog to his kibble, understood?"

"But he just wanted a taste."

"Sam, you should feel honored that I'm even letting that flea-ridden thing sleep in the same room as you boys. I'd rather it stay outside where it can't hurt anyone."

"Rumsfeld isn't hurting anyone, and he doesn't have fleas. Uncle Bobby put a flea collar on him."

"Just eat your own food and let the dog eat his. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now. Before we go back in, is there anything else you want to get off of your chest?"

"I can hear you snore from the bedroom. You snore louder than Rumsfeld."

A hushed bark of laughter echoed out from behind a nearby car just as the unmistakable squeak of the side door sounded. "John? Dean wandered off. He with you?" Bobby yelled across the scrap cars and rogue patches of unruly grass.

"I think so." John shouted as he stepped away from the car and Sam before walking around the nearest junker to find his oldest huddle against the back tire, hidden from view. "What are you doing?" He asked sternly. "You should be resting. I told you not to go outside without someone _with_ you."

Dean blushed from the crown of his head to his hands at being caught. "Yeah, but… I- uh, I thought Sam was in trouble?"

John rolled his eyes and reached down to carefully help Dean off the ground. Once the kid had safely regained his footing, John let go. "So you thought eavesdropping would help?"

"Well, no, but…" Dean's worried eyes locked on something behind John, causing the man to turn. Sammy was standing behind him.

John made the connection too easily. "Dean, Sammy is safe with me. I've never hit him, and I won't hit you either. He's more likely to be grounded for life than he is to get a belt to the ass. You don't have to worry when it's just us."

Dean was quiet for a minute, just slowly looking from his father to Sam and back.

"Dad wouldn't hurt me like that, Dean. He might look tough and kill things but he's still our Dad." Sam's voice was soft; he was trying not to imagine what could've happened when Dean went missing and the bottle of whiskey was still an ever present entity in Dad's life. Once again, Sam was glad he had a dad like Dad.

"Okay." Dean nodded hesitantly before swallowing. "Am I in trouble now, too?"

John barked a laugh that made Dean flinch. "Kid, I think we've had enough trouble for one day."

"So I'm not grounded?"

"Not yet."

* * *

Those first two weeks were just the vacation John felt he and his boys- all three of them now- needed. He finally got to experience his oldest as the person he grew into, not the scared stranger flinching away from his every move. Dean loved pancakes and burgers and football and books of all shapes and sizes. He was eager to learn anything from anyone; Bobby walked him through an oil change the day his official bed rest- a whole ten days- was over. John taught him how to shoot a pistol left-handed the next day. Then, during the second week, the two of them spent an afternoon working on hand to hand combat that involved the use of just one arm; Dean was still at least two weeks away from being able to take the brace off for even a few hours. It would be at least four weeks before he could stop using it altogether. John needed him to be prepared, at least a little, if something were to happen. Dean needed to be able to buy himself time even if he couldn't win any fight he got into.

His little trooper was everything the father imagined he'd be and, even though it sounds cliché, so much more. He was kind and patient, quick-witted and outspoken, and more brilliant than John could've hoped. Yet even with the kid smiling all the time and lighting up his father's world, John mourned raising the son who was taken from him. The first tooth he lost, his first report card, his first crush, every birthday and Christmas and holiday that was missed; all of it weighed heavy on John's heart. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself to live in the present with his boys, John missed the babies that didn't get to grow up together, the dinosaur green eyes that didn't get to watch dinosaur brown ones look up to him like every little brother does to his older brother. He missed them being a _family_.

John learned a lot about his youngest son, too. He liked to throw knives and he was good at it; the father found him teaching Cas the basics one afternoon. Sam hated cooking. He grumbled the whole time and somehow managed to burn spaghetti. They didn't ask him to cook again after that night- the smoke alarms gave Dean and Bobby splitting headaches. Everyone figured it was for the best that Sam avoid the use of the stove until further notice.

The kid could sit quietly for _hours_ and just read, and he had on several occasions. On any given afternoon, he could be found on the floor with a book, Dean sprawled out on the couch with his own, and Cas seated against the wall with a blanket behind his back, absorbed in his own little literary world. Luckily, Bobby had a few works of fiction in his massive collection; all three boys greatly preferred to read those in their off time. Somehow, books filled with exorcisms and old spells just didn't have the same lure as dystopias and whaleships to teenage boys.

Sam could be loud and outspoken in conversation- a fact with which John was very familiar- but he could also be completely silent, a passive participant when he wanted to be. His talkative son became the quiet one and his quiet one spoke more and more often as the weeks progressed, leaking little bits of personality and quirks with each new topic. It was music to John's ears.

With that other boy, though, John felt just as lost as when Sammy started growing up completely different from how Dean had. Dean, as a toddler, was obedient and joyful in everything he did. Sam was a tornado of willpower and patience-testing sass. Now, John had to learn a _third_ kid and all he could think was _I'm getting too old for this_.

He was surprised to realize that he really didn't mind it all that much. Having both his sons under one roof, safe from harm and smiling again, put an ease into John's heart that hadn't been there since before Mary passed.

Castiel was quiet. Quieter even than Dean had been when they first found him. It took a full week before the boy was able to have a comfortable conversation with either of the older men when Sam and Dean weren't around. The boys got along better than John could've hoped, but Cas didn't trust adults very easily and that was okay. John understood. The kid had no reason to trust them and every reason to be suspicious and hesitant around strangers. Everyone knew he hadn't decided whether or not he planned to stick around once the vampires were dealt with, but John hoped he would. No child deserved to live like Castiel was, without support or someone to turn to, deprived of the carefree childhood that came with a reliable parent. Even at Bobby's house, Cas was jumpy, painfully high-strung, and at times he made John anxious by proxy.

He didn't feel safe.

And why should he? They were all being hunted by vampires. Bobby and John and all their contacts had no leads on the whereabouts of the fangs in question.

That was why John was so hesitant to grant the kid's only real request after two weeks of submissive compliance.

"Please? If I don't pay my rent, the landlord will change the locks and sell my things."

The father stood straight from where he had been working under the hood of the Impala in the machine shed. He set the wrench down and wiped some oil off of his hands with a rag before turning to the bundle of nerves speaking to him. John almost laughed when he noticed the boy wearing one of the shirts he remembered buying for Dean; luckily, they were the same size. Cas didn't exactly come with his own clothes, after all. Come to think of it, the four of them were all running low on clothing. Most of their articles were still in Temple. But there was no way John was letting Cas go back. "It's not safe, bud. I can't let you walk into a trap."

"But- please, I- I don't have very much that I need to get, just a couple little things. I gotta pay rent, and- and he can sell the rest if he wants to. I won't take very long packing up, I promise." Cas bit his lip; he'd been feeling nervous for a week already about asking John to drive him all the way back to Temple. But he _had_ to get some things before his apartment was given to someone else and all the things inside sold.

"What's so important that you'd dangle yourself in front of a hungry vampire to get?"

Cas flinched at the harsh tone in Mr. Winchester's voice, but pressed on. This _was_ important. Some of the most important things in his life, actually. "My parents' wedding rings."

 _Well shit._ John frowned. He knew exactly what his newest charge was feeling. Those rings were his last tangible reminder of his parents. Sure, he probably had pictures and a few other things, but those were symbols of the bond that created him. John remembered helping the firemen search for _hours_ to find Mary's ring in all the ash that had fallen into the first floor living room. She didn't wear it to bed, so when they found her, it was nowhere to be seen. John himself found it, alongside his dog tags and a few of her favorite necklaces; it had been in her jewelry box, which was made of oak and red velvet and was long gone by the time the fire was put out.

John had planned to give her ring to Dean one day, when he was older.

And now he could. As soon as he retrieved it from his duffel in Temple.

"Cas…" John sighed, searching for a solution to their problem. "There's no way I'm letting _you_ go back to Temple."

"But…"

"Your life is worth more than those rings. Believe me."

"But that's all I have left of her. Dad got rid of everything else after she died. He couldn't handle seeing her stuff every day, not when he had to take care of me alone. It's all I have left of her- _please_."

"No. You're not going."

"Mr. Winchester, with all due respect, you have no right to hold me here. I'm an adult, technically, and I can go if I want to." Cas said, his voice still unsure and soft. "I'm asking for help, not permission. Please understand that."

John closed the hood of the car and glared at the boy. "You are not going anywhere. If this is such a big deal for you, I'll arrange for someone who _hasn't_ been scented to go get your things."

"But I have the key and my landlord won't let anyone else into my apartment. My lawyer made him sign a paper and everything."

"Locks don't stop hunters, kid. Make a list of everything you need and I'll make some calls."

"But what if they take things?"

"I thought you only wanted the rings."

"I mean, that's all I _need_ , but there are other things I'd like to have, too. I can't just replace everything else in my apartment. I have a watch my dad gave me for my fifteenth birthday, and pictures, and-"

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'll find someone I trust to grab the stuff."

"Why can't you go with me?"

"First of all, _you are not going_. Second, I've been scented, too. It won't do us any good if we both go and get killed."

"I'll go."

Cas and John looked up to see Bobby sauntering over to the machine shed, hands in his pockets. "I can make some calls, Bobby, you don't have to do that."

"Nonsense. I got a day or two to spare. Road trip don't seem so bad; might finally get some peace and quiet." Bobby grinned kindly at Cas, who was trying to tell if Mr. Singer was making a joke.

"Bobby-"

"Would you really?" Cas asked suddenly, stepping closer to Bobby.

"Yeah. 'Sides, my truck is still down there."

"Sorry about that." John muttered with a frown.

"No need to be sorry, just make that call and find somebody to take me down there so I can bring my truck back."

"Your truck and my things, right?"

"'Course. The truck, your stuff, and all that junk in the Winchester household, right, John?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Thank you, sir."

"Make up a list." Bobby clapped Cas on the shoulder and gently pushed him toward the house. He went without a fuss. When the kid was out of earshot, Bobby turned to John. "I'll leave tonight. The sooner we get this done, the better. I'm bettin' I can sneak in and out of Temple without a problem, but the more time we spend sittin' on our thumbs, the more time the vampire has to set up a watch on your place."

"Got it. I'll give Wallace a call."

"Wallace McGaither?"

"Yeah."

Bobby groaned. "I hate that stuck up bastard."

"But I'll bet you a hundred bucks he'd be here by dinner to make the drive."

"I know better than to bet with you, Winchester. Call 'im."

John took out his phone in time for a thought to pop into his head. "Hey, why are you out here?"

"Thought you'd never ask. Got a lead on your dead man walkin'."

* * *

 **A/N: Leave me a review! I love hearing from readers who recently found my stories and from readers who have been with me from the beginning! You guys brighten my day and make me a better writer (and give me motivation to keep writing). Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! Can't wait to hear from all y'all... See you soon!**


	40. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**A/N: Vivi here! Sorry I'm a day late. As promised, your next chapter!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John took out his phone in time for a thought to pop into his head. "Hey, why are you out here?"_

 _"Thought you'd never ask. Got a lead on your dead man walkin'."_

* * *

"Soon as you get back, I'm headin' out."

Bobby sighed in frustration and turned around with his hand on the front doorknob. He'd just finished hastily packing a back and was trying to figure out how he was going to spend the next day or so in the same car with the idiot dove after every wild goose chase he caught whiff of. The guy- Wallace- had been just an hour away, wrapping up his latest 'hunt' when John called. Turns out the 'haunted bridge' was actually just a place drug dealers met with their clients. The punks wore poorly made costumes to conceal their identies; there happened to be a troll, a lion, and big gray blob when Wally found them. The naïve hunter was nearly shot when he stumbled in on a deal taking place.

Needless to say he called the cops and, after John's call, hurried to Bobby's house, all too eager to put his latest failure behind him.

So now all the hunter pleasantries had been had- the obligatory beer-in-Bobby's-kitchen greeting- and Wallace was waiting outside in his cramped, rusty pick up.

And John went and said _that_. _Idjit has the worst timing I've ever seen._ "John, I get that you're ready to bash some skulls. I am, too. Nothin's gonna treat those boys like that and live as long as I have a say. But just because we know where they are now doesn't mean you need to go chargin' in, guns blazin'."

"Guns don't work on vampires."

Bobby rolled his eyes and closed the front door without going through. "You don't think I know that? What I'm tryin' ta say is that your boys need you here right now. You still got 'em, so just… be with 'em for a while. The vamps aren't gonna fall off the face of the earth; we'll just find 'em again later. Let the boys heal in peace before you go throwin' yourself into the fray and gettin' it worse than they got it now. Revenge ain't worth another loss, John, and I'm not gonna play nurse to a grown man if you manage to crawl outta that alive. Those brats are lucky I got such a soft spot as it is, keepin' them around."

John grinned and listened briefly to Castiel and Sam in the next room, arguing about how to put Bobby's books away. That was their chore for the day. Organize Uncle Bobby's massive collection. Yesterday, Sam had to clean the bathrooms and Cas had to vacuum. It had been a long while since John heard Sam sigh that hard and with so much attitude. _They don't know how good they got it here._ "You won't have to take care of anyone, Bobby. I've got the element of surprise."

"John, don't be a dumbass. Remember what happened the first time somebody in your huntin' group tried goin' off alone?"

 _Dean? DEAN?!_

 _Wait, no-_

The father had to physically shake his head and clear his throat before he could look at his friend again. Before he knew it, his palms were sweating and his hands shook ever so slightly. A fog of anxiety and panic hung in his mind for a few moments until he could think clearly again. _He's safe. He's here. He's okay._ John wasn't sure he'd ever outgrow the raw panic that enveloped him whenever the memory of the night he lost Dean snuck up on him. "It's not like that anymore. I know exactly what I'm up against and they don't know where the boys are. Nothing is going to happen to them while I'm gone. And you'll be here to help them if they need it."

"I'm not gonna let you tromp off and leave me a trio of orphans, Winchester. They need their daddy and you'd be goddamn nuts to think I'd readily deprive them of that."

"They'll be fine."

"They'll be vulnerable."

That stopped John in his tracks. "What? But they'd be here, with you."

"You think I can protect three kids from as many attackers? I ain't no spring chicken, ya jarhead."

A truck horn blared outside, making John growl at the door; Dean was sleeping upstairs, passed out again after his afternoon dose of sleep-inducing painkillers. With the dog on his bed. _We are never getting a dog. If we get one, they'll want their own. And then they'll want more when the puppies get older. And then we'll have a friggin' pack. Why did I let that dog sleep with them in the first place?_ "We can talk when you get back."

Bobby glared at John, but opened the front door anyway. "Don't you go runnin' off. And keep those snot nosed kids outta my stuff." The last phrase was said with a grin.

John huffed a laugh. "Will do."

"Wish me luck. I'm gonna need it with Wallace."

* * *

"How many books does Uncle Bobby even have?" Sam groaned from the living room, throwing his head back in exasperation as he swung a dusty tome through the air.

John barely looked up from the book he was reading. It was about vampires- medieval ones to be exact- and he was hoping to find something in there that he didn't already know from his research over the past decade. So far, no luck. "Couple thousand. You haven't even gotten to the basement yet."

"Oh, come _on_."

"What's an… okami?" Cas asked as he added an old Japanese looking book to a pile he had going on the living room floor.

"They're kinda like werewolves. Fast, strong, tough. Got fangs, but they're not really found outside the far east-"

John was interrupted by an earsplitting scream that seemed to rock the house and set his every hair on end. He was out of his seat and sprinting for the stairs before he'd even decided to do so. _Dean?!_

"Dean?" Sam exclaimed, already running for the staircase.

John fisted the back of Sam's shirt before the kid hit the first step and pulled him back, quickly getting in front of him. "Stay here, Sam."

"But-"

"That's an order." His heart pounding with adrenaline, John didn't even look back to see if Sam listened. The stairs were taken two or three at a time and within seconds, the door to the boys' bedroom was thrown open. It occurred to John that he probably should've armed himself before charging in like that, but his _baby_ was in trouble. He couldn't have spared the time. He wouldn't have.

Dean was asleep, crying, panting, squirming, covering his head with his good arm, and whimpering in such a way that told John he was in pain, but there was nothing near him to inflict it.

Rumsfeld sat in the corner of the room, as far from the bed as he could get, whining softly and looking worriedly between John and Dean before bolting out the now open door, thumping John's leg with his tail in his haste to escape.

After a quick and thorough inspection, there were no threats in the room. Nothing to harm him except the things in Dean's own head.

John didn't hesitate to rush to the bed and sit at his son's side. As gently as he could manage, he shook Dean's good shoulder and removed the kid's arm from his face. "Hey, kiddo, it's me. You're safe. You're having a nightmare and I need you to wake up, okay? It's Dad."

"N-no, please, I- _Diesel,_ sir, I- stop, I-" A sharp gasp made John shake a little harder.

"Wake up."

"Hurts, ple- stop! I'll do- I'll do anything else, jus' please…"

"Dean, you're safe. There aren't any vampires here."

" _Stop!_ Get away from me, you can't- he didn't say-"

"Dean, wake up."

" _Lemme go!_ "

"Dad, what are you doing to him?"

John looked to the door and saw his youngest watching with horror in his eyes, Cas standing just behind him with a similar expression. "I can't wake him up."

"He's asleep?" Cas asked as Sam hurried to his father's side.

Sam knelt near Dean's head and tapped his face, making the other boy grimace and turn away. "Dean, you gotta wake up. C'mon."

The sleeping hunter cried out and jerked his good arm up, knocking his father's and brother's hands away. Had John not firmly grabbed Dean's wrist shortly after being pushed away, Sam would've gotten an eyeful of Dean's fist. "Wake up, son."

Dean's eyes shot open, full of animalistic fear and desperation while he continued trying to bat John away from him. "Get _off_." He growled loudly, employing his legs to kick at the foreigner in his bed.

The kid was on his feet and had ripped his wrist free before John could stop him.

Dean had the window halfway open before Cas rushed in, grabbed it, and slammed it shut, carefully pushing Dean away with one arm in the process.

As he stumbled back a few steps, watching Cas close the window, Dean finished waking up. He blinked a few times, the fear washing out of his expression, replaced by confusion. Innocent green eyes flicked from Cas to Sam to Dad before Dean took a deep breath and rubbed at his eye. "Uh… sorry."

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked, looking him up and down. _No blood, no vomit, no weird angles._

"Yeah, I jus'… Don't- don't let me sleep during the day anymore, okay? I can't…" Dean looked to the rug, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. _It took three people to wake me up?_

"You can't what, son?" John looked his son over, too. It was obvious that Dean was tired. He was hunched over, had bags under his eyes, spoke slowly and deliberately, and was having trouble making eye contact. _I'm usually against drugging a kid to sleep, but, kiddo, if this keeps up, I'll make an exception._

"I can't keep the nightmares away during the day." Dean's voice was quiet. "Sorry if I scared you guys. I didn't mean to. I just can't…"

"We know. It's okay, Dean. We don't blame you for your nightmares." Sam kept his voice just as quiet, not wanting to make his big brother any more uncomfortable than he already was.

"Would it help if you slept on the couch downstairs?" John asked, watching as Dean walked stiffly back to his bed and sat down, head in his hand.

"I don't know. I just don't wanna sleep anymore."

"Well, why don't you help Sam and Cas out with the books for a few hours?" A thought occurred to John that set his rusty gears in motion. "I have an idea."

"An idea? What kind of idea?" Sam asked, his curiosity piqued as he watched Dad walk slowly out of the room and down the hall.

"I need to look over a few things. Ask me in a few hours."

* * *

"G'night, Dad."

"Night, Dad."

"Goodnight, Mr. Winchester."

 _It's like the Brady bunch in here._ "Good night boys." John shut the bedroom door and strolled slowly down the hall quietly, lost in thought. He was torn about his most recent decision; on one hand, he needed to help his oldest son and to do that, he needed to know exactly what was wrong. Dean refused to talk about his nightmares and John understood why. They were painful and dug up frightening memories that he didn't want to revisit. But in order to find out what was going on in Dean's head, John would have to violate his son's privacy in the most intimate way he could think of.

He'd heard of dreamwalking before. He knew where to find the spell and the ingredients; they were all ready on the kitchen table, in fact, if he decided to really go through with it. John just wasn't sure he wanted to pry that far into the broken teenager's psyche. It felt wrong. Dean deserved privacy. But he also deserved to feel safe and protected. How could John do that if he didn't know what he was up against?

Absently, John wondered if he should've told Dean what he planned to do. He'd decided against it earlier, worried that if Dean knew what would happen, the kid would resist sleep and wind up slowing his recovery. The father hadn't told Sam or Cas his plans, either; telling one was basically equivalent to telling them all.

So John trudged down the stairs and sat at the kitchen table, letting his head fall wearily into his hands. He was glad Bobby wasn't around to talk sense into him.

He needed to do this.

For Dean.

Half an hour later, he crept up to the boys' room and counted two sets of soft snores and one nearly inaudible breathing pattern. Dean wasn't showing any signs of a nightmare, so John decided that was as good a time as any.

Back in the kitchen, he grimaced at the brew in one of Bobby's old coffee mugs, dropped in a piece of Dean's hair, and went to sit on the couch.

It tasted bad. Worse than he thought it would, actually. It had cinnamon and ginger and sugar in it, but also African Dream Root and human hair. Quickly, he put the mug on the floor at his feet. Then, he waited.

* * *

One moment he was sitting on Bobby's musty old couch and the next he was on a hard park bench with crickets chirping behind him.

It was dark. A few dim light posts illuminated a set of well used playground equipment surrounded by grass that looked like it needed a trim. Every so often, a car would speed by on a road that John could only tell was there by the street lamps. There were dark houses across from the playground, thick trees behind him and to his right, and more to his far left, beyond a small parking lot.

There was no one else around and John was wondering what he did wrong.

He sat there for a good few minutes, just scanning the area, before movement caught his eye on the playground. The big yellow slide thudded against its supports rather loudly in the stillness of the night. A small figure emerged at the bottom, quickly exiting the thing and walking toward the road. John stood, careful to keep his distance, and followed.

The figure made it to the road and started walking on the sidewalk, going right. Not long after, a car sped past John and slowed to a stop next to the silhouette.

"You lost, kid?" The person in the car was a man. No one else was in the car with him.

The little figure, a child apparently, stopped walking and shrugged, looking through the car's open window. "My mom never came to pick me up."

"I'll take you home. Get in."

"Wait, don't-" John called, his skin crawling as he ran for the stopped vehicle.

The kid got in. The car sped away.

And John just _knew_ that was his son in there.

* * *

The scene changed again in an instant. Now, instead of standing alone at the edge of a playground, John stood on the edge of a parking lot with a big motel sign blinking lazily overhead. The same car as before showed up just moments later.

It stopped in front of a door labeled nine and shut off. John moved closer and stayed mostly hidden behind a small van until the doors opened and he could whisk his son out of danger.

"Where are we? This isn't my house." The kid said nervously.

"Don't worry about it. This is where I live, bucko. Wanna meet my puppy?" The man, who _sounded_ slimy, opened his door and stood, moving quickly to open the passenger side door.

"You should run." The words were almost so quiet John didn't hear them.

A truck tore into the parking lot, screeching to a halt right behind the man's car. "What the hell?" The man's tone was a mix of fear and anger. John could no longer see him or his son, which had him rushing out from his hiding place as soon as he heard a car door slam.

"Good work, Win. Get back in the truck for the next round."

"Yes, Mr. Diesel, sir."

The man's scream was cut off.

* * *

John wasn't sure what happened. Either all the lights in the motel _and_ the moon went out at the same time or he was somewhere without lights at that point.

He found out soon enough.

Blinding, harsh light filled the room and he heard a sharp, quiet gasp.

There was Dean, lying on the floor. It looked like they were in an old barn, long since abandoned by whatever farmer owned it. The floors were bare, worn, unfinished wooden planks. Dust was settled on every surface and old farm equipment sat rusting against the walls. A stack of timber stood in the far corner, covered by a tarp and innumerable cobwebs. The roof, probably thirty feet up, was supported by three huge pillars, one of which was surrounded at its base by a chain. That chain led off to a collar around his son's neck.

For the first time since entering Dean's head, John got a good look at him. The child was young, probably six or seven, with grown out, scruffy hair that looked as dirty as the rest of him seemed. His clothes were too small, there were holes in his sneakers, and on his skin were cuts and bruises in all states of healing.

John couldn't see if there were bite marks on the boy's neck because the collar was blocking his view, leaving an angry red rash wherever it scratched Dean's skin.

The scrawny boy sat up quickly and backed away from the far door, which John heard thump closed with a sickening finality.

John had never seen fear like he saw on his baby boy's face in that moment.

A tall, muscular man crossed the floor of the barn as he spoke.

"You could've done better, boy."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry won't keep our friends off your neck, now will it?"

"No, sir."

"You agree with me, then. So why didn't you bring us more food?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Diesel, sir. I tried, really, I did, but nobody wanted to pull over after that fat guy."

"Doesn't matter what _they_ wanted, Win. You should've jumped into the road, _made_ them stop. If you don't start working harder, you won't have nearly as much fun with us as you do now."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better next time."

"You'll do better next time, what?" The man, Diesel, growled, coming to a stop between Dean and the pole he was tethered to.

"Sir."

"That's right. And how shall we make sure you remember your little promise _this_ time?"

Dean was silent. He pulled his legs close and wrapped his arms around them, staring at the floor in front of Diesel's feet.

"Why don't we make sure the world knows who you are?"

Dean's eyes snapped up to the man and overflowed with panic and terror. He pulled at his chain and pleaded. "No, please, I- I'll do better! Send me out again, right now, I'll bring you more people, I promise!"

"You had your chance, Win."

"Winthrop didn't say you could hurt me." Dean said loudly, trying to feign confidence. The wavering tone didn't help at all.

"Don't lie to me, boy. You know full well that I have permission to punish you if you endanger yourself."

"But…"

"Are you talking back?"

Diesel slapped Dean across the mouth, sending him to the floor, where his head bounced off the wood.

"You know I can't wait until you have your little family reunion back where it all started? I want to see the look on your father's face when I slit your throat and drink you dry as slow as I please. Too bad about your baby brother, though. Guess you're the only one who gets to enjoy _his_ death."

John finally snapped to his senses and stood from where he'd been crouching behind a huge tractor tire. He'd wanted to gather as much information as possible, but now he regretted it.

The vampire knelt over Dean and tore the top of his shirt to reveal his neck, below the scratchy red collar. A small pocket knife was produced and before John could say a word, three letters were carved into Dean's skin over the scars of the same letters.

 _No wonder those stood out so bad. That bastard must've cut Dean's WIN scars open a couple times._ "Dean!" John shouted as he barreled across the room.

Both Dean and Diesel looked up in time to see John body check the vampire off of his son and into an old plow. Without missing a beat, John stood and grabbed a shovel off the wall and swung it at the fang's head."

The metal only made it halfway through on the first swing. So John took another stab at it and swung again, this time fully severing the monster's head.

He ignored the blood that splattered onto his jacket.

"D-Daddy?"

John dropped the shovel and ran to his son, falling to his knees and pulling the kid into his arms. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."

"…This isn't real, is it?"

 _He can't even believe that I'd come for him in his dreams. How fast did they crush his hope? He really thought I stopped looking._ "This, right here, this isn't, no. This is a dream, but in real life, I'm with you, okay? You're safe in real life. You- you're at home with me and- and Sammy and you're seventeen, kiddo. Sammy's fine, and you're okay, and we're all together."

John released his son and made quick work of the padlock on the collar. It fell unceremoniously to the floor next to a slowly coagulating puddle of blood.

"So… so I'm dreaming?"

"Yes."

Dean looked away from his father and nodded. "I thought so."

"Why's that?"

"You came."

* * *

The scene changed again. John hadn't been expecting that. He thought maybe Dean would wake up and jettison him from the dream, but the old barn became a motel room.

Scratch that, the barn became an exact replica of the motel room at the Andover Inn in Plainfield.

The same place he lost his innocent little trooper.

"Dean, what…?" John was standing in front of the window, inside the room, beside the door which looked fully intact. He looked around the room and couldn't breathe.

There was the crib, at the foot of his bed.

And there was Dean, sitting cross-legged at the head of his own bed, look John over quite calmly. John himself was close to having a meltdown.

"Do you have any baby pictures of Sam?"

"Huh?" John's eyes snapped to little Dean at the question.

"Do you have any baby pictures of Sammy? I can't remember what he looked like."

"Isn't he…?" John slowly walked to the crib and looked down. Sam was there, of course, asleep, but his features looked almost… blurry. It was strange.

"Yeah, but this is _my_ dream and I don't know what he's supposed to look like. It bugs me."

"Yeah, I got some pictures." John's voice was quiet; he was trying to hide how unnerved he was at the sudden change of events.

"Can I ask you some things, Dad?"

Those innocent green eyes followed John as he went to sit on the bed across from Dean. "You know you can, son. But, uh… are you doing…?" John motioned to the room as a whole.

Dean nodded. "This is my happy place. I come here after my nightmares if I don't wake up."

John could feel his jaw drop. " _This_ is your happy place?"

Dean just shrugged. "It's the last place I remember being happy with you and Sammy. So, yeah. It's kinda burned into my head anyways, so I figured I'd just take it back a couple hours and keep it around."

"You mean because of… that night."

"Yeah."

John took a deep breath to clear his head. It didn't help. "You, uh, you wanted to ask me something?"

"Why are you here?"

 _Maybe I can cover my ass._ "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't belong here. You've never been here. That was a dream I've had for years and it's never changed. How are you here?"

A heavy sigh escaped the father's chest and he looked his oldest in the eye. "You were suffering. I had to do _something._ "

"I suffered for twelve years. I know you looked for me, but you were never in my dreams. I could've told you where I was, helped you find me. Why are you here now?"

Guilt swelled and pushed out at John's ribs. "I didn't have a sample of your DNA. The spell requires DNA and I… I just didn't have it. But now I do."

"Oh. I see."

"You've never dreamed about me before?"

Dean shrugged again. "I dream of happy things, sometimes. Things that make me laugh. Like my fourth birthday, when Mommy knocked my cake off the counter with her baby belly by accident and you made pancakes instead."

"You loved pancakes." John let a small smile pull at his lips.

Dean grinned for a moment, but it faded quickly. "Yeah. But you're not in my other dreams, usually. Most of 'em. Especially not the ones with Winthrop and Diesel and Lucy and Jerold. So how are you here now?"

"It's, uh, a spell with something called a dream root. I needed to know what was going on… or I _thought_ I needed to know what was going on in your nightmares to help you sleep better."

"You probably should've come when I was having a nightmare, then."

"What?"

"I wasn't having a nightmare."

"Then what the hell was that? That fang was hurting you, using you as a lure."

"Y'know how some people dream about school or work or, like, driving or something and it's not a big deal but it happens anyway? I dream about… all them all the time. They're not nightmares, they're just bad dreams."

"Do I want to know what a nightmare is for you?"

"No."

John couldn't help but sigh and rub at the back of his neck. _That's what I came here for, though._ "I think I _need_ to, Dean. I want to help."

"You're already helping a ton, Dad. I don't have nightmares when you and Sammy are around. You already figured that out, though, I'm pretty sure. It's just when I'm alone and I- I don't feel safe that they creep up on me. It's not a big deal."

"Dean…"

"But what is a big deal is what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"Coming into my head while I'm sleeping. This is my private place, Dad. It's the only place I've ever been able to just be myself and I don't want to… I don't wanna change it by accident because I have to guard against intruders. Because my own _father_ wants in."

"I was just trying to help you, kiddo."

"I know, but this isn't the way. I need my space, Dad, and my own head is the only space that's ever been just mine."

"You don't want me to dream with you anymore?"

"No."

"Okay. I promise I won't do it again."

"Thanks, Dad."

"So, since this isn't the way to help you, what is?"

Tiny, six or seven year old Dean looked into his father's eyes with the deadliest look John had ever seen on the kid. "Help me kill Diesel and Winthrop."

* * *

John jerked awake to the sound of Rumsfeld howling in his sleep. It was something the dog did occasionally; John hated it but everyone else just shrugged it off. From the couch, the father heard his youngest shush the pup and tell him 'it's okay, go back to sleep'.

Must've woken Dean, too, or at least knocked him out of REM sleep.

John figured that was just as well. He knew how to help his kid now.

Early the next morning, Dean rubbed at his face as he walked down the stairs. _That was a weird dream. There's no way it was real, right? I mean, people can't jump into other people's dreams, right? But he's never been there before. Was it really Dad, or…?_

Dean got his answer in the form of a pile of steaming hot pancakes and a small stack of baby pictures with the names Dean and Sammy written on the backs.

"As promised."

"You're the best, Dad." Dean's smile lasted all day long.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Leave me words!**

 **Follow and favorite me/the story to keep up with my weird posting schedule!**

 **I posted a new AU called Coming Home. Take a look if you feel like it.**

 **See you next Monday!**


	41. Midnight Rider

**A/N: Vivi here! Written quickly, not checked. Sorry for mistakes. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Dean got his answer in the form of a pile of steaming hot pancakes and a small stack of baby pictures with the names Dean and Sammy written on the backs._

 _"As promised."_

 _"You're the best, Dad." Dean's smile lasted all day long._

* * *

True to his word, John stayed with his boys until Bobby returned two days after leaving.

Bobby was not thrilled that John used some of his limited stash of spell ingredients to break into his son's noggin, but the most he wanted to do about it was yell for a couple minutes out in the driveway where no little ears could be bothered. John had a stack of cash in hand to compensate him. That was good enough, he supposed. He understood why the man did it.

John was not thrilled that Bobby returned bearing news that he himself had been unable to track down. Turns out the lead Bobby got just before he left for Temple wasn't good any longer. The old scrapper called a few hunting buddies who owed him a favor and had them check out the place the vampires were supposedly staying. The group found an abandoned storefront in a small shopping center just outside the nearby town. Its back rooms were a mess; some held sleeping supplies like blankets, pillows, and inflatable mattresses, while others played host to much more gruesome scenes. It was clear that whatever had been living there liked 'take out'. Blood was occasionally seen on doorknobs, walls, or even dripped on floors, but what confirmed the hunting party's suspicions were the three bodies wrapped in tarps in one of the smaller rooms. They looked- and smelled- to be a few days old.

There weren't any valuables or identifying objects left behind. Bobby's contacts told him the nest had probably moved on already. They called again the next day and after a continuous eighteen hour surveillance of both the front and rear entrances to the building, there was no activity. The fangs were gone.

"I should've moved when I had the chance." John wanted to kick something. He restrained himself, not wanting his boys to be homeless again over a bad reaction from the homeowner to a new hole in his walls.

"We'll find 'em again, John, and then you and me can go hunt the sons of bitches down with a _team_ and finally be over this mess. It's no use rushin' in a one man army and leavin' an old man two mouths to feed."

"Bobby, I couldn't live with myself if they find us before we find them."

"They won't, John. They have no idea where we are."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better."

"You wanna move those kids again?"

"What do you think?"

Bobby huffed. "Exactly. Don't get your panties in a bunch; we'll be fine until Dean's healed up, at least. We can go from there."

"We shouldn't wait that long, Bobby. What if he decides to come with us and gets hurt? There's less of a chance of him following us if we get it done before he's back to normal."

"I'm right up there with you about him not goin' with us, but, John, it's his fight, too. He should be able to come if he wants. Give the boy some closure."

"And if he gets hurt? If he gets _killed_? What then, Singer? What am I supposed to tell Sammy if his brother doesn't come back with me in one piece?"

"Then that will have been his decision. You can't hold yourself responsible for him wantin' to kill his abusers and getting' hurt doin' it."

"I sure as hell can and don't think I won't. I'm his _father_ , Bobby, my job is to protect him, not let him waltz into the line of fire. I don't plan on him knowing about us going out to roll heads until those heads have rolled for a good long while."

"That ain't fair to him. It's not all about _you_ , Winchester. Dean needs to fight his own battles just like his daddy."

 _Dean needs to get a move on before Dad gets hurt doing what I should've done years ago._ Dean, sitting in his bedroom alone with the window open, heard everything and it sent nervous guilt through his veins. The book he'd been reading sat forgotten in his lap. _Sam needs Dad much more than I need him. If he goes out to kill Winthrop and Diesel and doesn't come back, Sam loses his dad. Sam loses the only support he's ever had. I don't have the same reliance on the man that Sam does and I can't let Dad go out to lose to my nest. He doesn't know their attack styles or defense strategies. He'll go down for sure._

 _I lost my father once._

 _I'm not gonna lose him again._

 _Gotta move soon, then._

Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall behind him. Silently, he hoped that by tearing away from his family _this_ time, he would free them from the curse that haunted him day in and day out. If he was lucky, he would get to come back to his domestic paradise, his own little slice of earth-bound heaven, to actually live in a real family. What was much more likely, though, was that he would never see his brother or father again. His only wish was that he could take down Winthrop at the very least. If he got both fangs, his mission would be complete, but if he only killed the leader, he knew Dad would be able to handle the attack dog.

 _How the hell am I supposed to find them, though?_

* * *

"G'night, boys." John shut the bedroom door with an amused grin. Sam was already fast asleep on his bed roll on the floor, the dog snoring at his side under the same blanket. Castiel had been steadily nodding off for a half hour at that point, barely able to brush his teeth and remember to take off the necklace that held his parent's wedding rings before his eyes slid shut for good; Cas refused to sleep with the necklace around his throat. He wouldn't say why, but the strange look on his face made John think it was somehow related to the abuse of his step mother. The father never thought he could feel that much protectiveness for a child who was not his own, but it didn't feel wrong. No one deserved abuse. Especially not that innocent little angel.

Dean was tired. That much John knew when he closed the door. What he didn't know, however, was that Dean didn't plan to sleep that night. He'd get a few hours headstart on the old men and figure out a way to track the nest so that, hopefully, the vampires would be dead before he was found.

Hopefully.

It was late by the time Dean's eyelids started to get heavy. A knock at the door brought him around just enough to realize that it was late enough to sneak away unnoticed. Especially with the distraction.

Dean was out the window and onto the back porch roof before he heard the door open.

He was in the bed of the unfamiliar pick up within ten seconds, figuring that was a good enough mode of transportation; it was uninhabited and just begging to help him escape. Dean held his backpack close, having packed it with all the necessities that night. He didn't feel bad stealing from his own family. He really did need the stuff, after all, and John probably wouldn't miss it, especially if he knew his son was using it.

Another series of hasty knocks rattled Bobby's front door; Dean couldn't who was calling this late, but he didn't really care.

Bobby cared. He'd been doing some research for a hunter out in Nebraska, looking into water spirits of freshwater lakes, and had been about to make a breakthrough when John came tromping down into the basement, where the majority of his case was laid out. He had too many documents to risk occupying the living room with three boys running around.

"Someone's at your door."

"What?"

"Someone's knocking at your door."

"Who in their right mind is at _my door_ at… What time is it?"

"Near midnight."

"I swear if my neighbor called the cops on me again…" Bobby stood. "Stay down here. I don't want to have to explain visitors. You hide your eyesore?"

John scoffed. "I put my _car_ in the machine shed."

"Good." The knocking came again just as Bobby made it to the front door. "Hold your damn horses."

On the other side, he found a woman about his age, just a bit shorter than he, who had a deceivingly pleasant, toothy smile. "Hi, are you Robert Singer?"

Bobby just stared at the woman for a few seconds. He knew that voice. Leaning out the door just a little, he saw a relatively new looking pick-up truck in his driveway. _Shit._ "Who's askin'?"

"I'm Lucy Ross. I've been calling you about my adopted son, Dean. Remember me?" She was still smiling, probably trying to look innocent and motherly.

Bobby leaned on his doorframe and reached behind a small coatrack near the door to pull a machete from its base. He tried not to look too suspicious. "I remember."

"Great, so… have you heard anything from the guy who found him?"

"No."

"Do you know where Dean is?"

"No."

"Can I have the man's phone number?"

"He asked me not to release it."

"Please, I'm just trying to find my son, Robert. He's all I have left and I'll just die without him. I _have_ to find him."

"I don't appreciate you comin' around this late at night, lady. You reported him missing yet?"

Lucy lost her motherly smile and frowned at Bobby with malice in her eyes. "Just give me the phone number. I think that man is trying to kidnap him and I can't let that happen."

"If you don't get off of my property in the next thirty seconds, I'm callin' the police. Then you can report him missin' in person."

Lucy nearly growled before turning and stomping off the porch. She jumped into her truck and sprayed gravel on her way out the driveway, a few pieces pinging harmlessly off of the basement windows.

Bobby locked the door and was back in the basement before he knew it.

John heard everything.

The two didn't have to speak to express their fears.

John rushed past his friend and flew up the two flights of stairs, throwing open the door to the boys' room.

Two of them, and one dog, snapped awake, blinking in the sudden brilliance of the room's light fixture. John didn't notice that, though.

He was trying to figure out how they slept through Dean being kidnapped, and how they were completely unharmed while Dean was completely missing.

* * *

Riding in the bed of that truck hurt Dean's sore body. Luckily, he had the forethought to pack up his medicines and some food before making his escape. He popped a few painkillers and hunkered down for a long drive.

And a long drive it was. At least three hours in the chilly night air had Dean shivering before the truck slowed and pulled into a trailer park. It wove through the poorly kept roads and run down trailers before settling in front of a dark gray single-wide with light coming from its windows.

Dean hunkered down and made himself as invisible as possible while the driver left the vehicle and disappeared around the corner of the trailer.

Half an hour later, Dean found himself in a public park, seated at a picnic table, trying to figure out where to go from there. He needed to locate Winthrop and Diesel. They would likely be together. But he needed to locate them without them knowing that he was looking; the element of surprise would be his greatest advantage. And… quite possibly his only advantage.

Dean jumped when something touched his leg.

His phone. His phone was ringing. He dug the thing from his pocket and noticed two things: first, he had quite a few missed calls. From multiple numbers, all within the last three hours. It was no wonder he missed them; the ride in the truck had been bumpy and loud. There would be no way for him to know if his phone rang while on the road. Second, his father was calling.

And Dean wasn't going to answer. He'd hoped to get more of a head start before his father became aware of his disappearance. The phone rang six times and then went silent.

Dean tucked it into the bottom of his backpack and zipped it shut.

"Just let me do this." Dean muttered to himself, sighing deeply.

"You got a pretty strong smell, y'know that?"

Dean whipped around when a hand fell onto his shoulder. His heart dropped into his stomach and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Glad to see you again, Win."

* * *

"John, calm down. I got my guy workin' on the trace. Just sit for a minute."

"Fuck you, Singer." John paced back and forth in the living room, hands on his head, his mind hundreds of miles and a lifetime away. _He's gone again. He's gone. He's just gone. Why didn't I- did he run? Did he not want to be here anymore? Why did I let this happen again?_

"Do as he says, boys, not as he does. I won't tolerate that kind of language from young'uns." Bobby sent a stern look to Cas and Sam, who had been roused and planted on the couch, well within sight of both hunters. John wasn't about to lose another kid that night.

"How long does it take to trace a fucking call?"

"Too long."

* * *

"You sure it's in there?"

"Yeah, I just saw it drag a body in."

"Got your knife?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Always."

"Ready for this?"

"Hey, what if the person is still alive?"

"They probably still be alive after we kill the vampire, right? We can just get 'em out then."

"What if there's more than one in there, though? I can't go in half-cocked and risk a civilian's life, Omar."

"There's only one."

"Are you sure?"

"Look, I staked the place out for a full day before I called you. It's just one vampire, man. Just a loner. It's nothing we can't handle, even if it has a living civilian with it."

"I'm trusting you on this one."

"You should."

"If the shit hits the fan and there's more than one, I'm gettin' that person outta there. Just know that. Killin' the monster will be second on my list."

"So it'll kill you both instead, then. Is that what you want?"

"That's what I got you for, bud."

"Don't call me 'bud', Jeff"

"Let's do this."

The two hunters exited their vehicle, an old SUV, and left it parked in a driveway a few trailers down from where Omar had traced a lone vampire just two days before. A lone vampire was unusual; they liked to live in nests, have power and safety in numbers. He guessed this one was a leftover from some other hunter's raid. He needed to clean up their mess, but he wasn't about to go in alone, just in case. Luckily, another hunter, one he'd worked with a time or two before this, was available and headed his way from a different hunt.

The pair hurried to the side of the trailer, listening through the thin walls for any sounds of a struggle or a commotion. There was only silence. They went up to the porch, machetes in hand, and Omar quietly counted to three before kicking the door in.

As Omar and Jeff rushed inside, a woman screamed; the door, now swinging limply into the kitchen, had almost hit her.

She ran around the corner and disappeared deeper into the trailer before either man could speak up. Omar really hoped that she wasn't the body they were supposed to rescue. She didn't look like she'd come quietly.

The vampire rushed around the same corner the woman had disappeared behind and yelled, bearing its fangs as it hurdled toward the hunters.

Omar swung his machete for a kill blow, right at the neck, but missed and instead the blade sunk deep into its left arm.

That was okay though, and Omar's sudden wave of panic was in vain. His partner, Jeff, had somehow produced a thick syringe of dark red liquid and had already emptied the thing into the vampire's neck. The hulking thing fell at Omar's feet, completely unconscious.

"Oh shit-" Omar's panic returned as another man- scratch that, the teeth gave it away- _vampire_ stormed into the room.

"Diesel, can I not rely on you for a single thing?" It barked, looking to the hunters with murder and bloodlust in his eyes.

"You got any more of that magic stuff?" Omar asked as the pair backed away from the body and the approaching danger.

"Just so happen to be fresh out, my friend."

"I was wrong."

"No shit." Jeff lunged forward as soon as the thing was within six feet of them. He found it better to be on the offense during altercations involving vampires; they were used to being predators for weak little humans, and making the first move often caught them off guard.

So it was for this vampire. Jeff faked a swing for the thing's left arm so that when it moved to block the blow, he was able to pull the blade back and finish the decoy swing, using his new position to slice the sharpened blade of his machete into the thing's abdomen.

He felt the blade sink in and come to a stop against the lowest false rib.

The vampire didn't like that. He started to make a move on Jeff, but Omar came in at just the right time.

With an infuriated growl, the vampire caught Omar's machete blade with his hand, instantly sending blood streaming down his forearm, and shoved Jeff and Omar away as quickly as possible. Wounded, the vampire fled, but not before body checking Omar into the far wall with a loud _thud_. It was out the front door in seconds.

Jeff made sure the thing was gone before rushing around the unconscious vampire on the floor to kneel at his partner's side. "You good, man?"

Omar gasped at a sharp pain in his side and held a hand around his ribs for a moment before speaking. "Think it busted something."

"I'm gonna go find that lady. Stay here."

"Don't really have a choice, do I?" Omar muttered, watching Jeff cautiously cross the kitchen.

Moments after disappeared around the corner that seemed to be the main throughfare of the house, Jeff returned. But the woman wasn't with him.

Instead, there was a body in his arms, cradled carefully as if it were a child.

"He's still alive. We need to go. _Now_." Jeff looked down at the bloody figure to make sure he was still breathing after being moved. The kid wasn't in good shape, but he seemed to be holding up.

"What about that?" Omar pointed to the body on the floor with a sneer. "I'm not gonna be able to swing with these ribs."

"Leave it. We got a civilian. He takes priority." Jeff watched Omar struggle and eventually stand on his own two feet.

"What is it with you and civilians, man?" Omar followed him out the back door and hurried after him as he made a beeline for the SUV. "Won't take two seconds to end that thing."

"I can't take any chances, Omar. I've made too many mistakes that hurt innocents and I ain't lettin' the past repeat itself like that again."

"Whatever."

The kid was laid in the backseat. Jeff made sure to secure him with a seatbelt across his middle before joining Omar in the front.

"Gotta figure out who he is, get him somewhere safe before that other monster finds us."

"Just drive."

* * *

 **A/N: Y'know, I feel like we know Jeff from somewhere, just can't put on my finger on it... ;)**

 **Leave me words!**


	42. Can't Find My Way Home

**A/N: Vivi here! Wrote at least half of this within the last two hours. Not much editing happened. Missed Monday by 13 minutes. Oh well.**

 **Same warnings apply.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _The kid was laid in the backseat. Jeff made sure to secure him with a seatbelt across his middle before joining Omar in the front._

 _"Gotta figure out who he is, get him somewhere safe before that other monster finds us."_

 _"Just drive."_

* * *

"Look, Jeff, I get you wanting to be all 'patron saint of the kids' but he's not our responsibility. Just put him in some hospital or leave an anonymous tip with the cops and help me track down the vampires."

Jeff paused in his task of wiping the blood from the face of the boy in the bed before him. The kid had been wincing every time a fresh stream of red made it into his eyes and Jeff didn't plan on letting that happen again. He'd already patched up all the leaks on his head; now he just had to get rid of the residual, coagulating mess that clung to the boy's eyelids. Needless to say, he wasn't very pleased to be having the current conversation. He looked tiredly to his latest hunting partner. "He's been scented, Omar. They'll track him."

"We drove for an hour, man, there's no way they'll track him this far."

"I'm not taking the chance. Not until we kill the vampires."

"What is with you?" Omar stood, grimacing before grabbing his ribcage to hold the busted bones in place. "Do you do this with every kid you find?"

"Every vampire victim that happens to be a child, yes." Jeff glared at Omar. "Kids take priority. I won't put them in danger any more than I have to."

"He isn't even your kid, man. He'll be fine."

"Yeah. He will be. Because I'm not going to dangle him in front of a vampire like a piece of worthless meat."

Omar rolled his eyes. "Y'know what? I'm just gonna head out, call in some reinforcements to take the case. I can't defend myself with these ribs and you got a kid now, so you're fucked."

"Language. He could be able to hear us, shithead."

Omar snorted a laugh. Jeff let a his own grin spread at his attempted joke. "Whatever. I'll call you when I hear the monsters are dealt with."

"Thanks, Omar. Safe travels."

"Yeah. Good luck with the kid." Omar quickly packed what few belongings he's brought into the motel room and left, locking the door before pulling away in his own car.

"Guess it's just you and me, buddy."

* * *

It didn't take long for Jeff to get all the blood off of the visible parts of the boy's skin. He wasn't about to start removing clothing. Kids didn't take well to that kind of intrusion. They usually preferred to be uncomfortable in their clothes until they could clean up themselves. Jeff did a quick and careful triage, gently lifting the kid's shirt, replacing it quickly afterwards, and palpating limbs and his head to check for additional, less obvious injuries. The boy still hadn't woken up after three hours, but Jeff assumed he'd been a meal for at least two vampires. Poor kid was low on blood; no wonder he couldn't wake up.

Well, not fully.

An hour after Jeff gave the kid a mostly clean bill of health and tucked him into the far bed for some more comfortable rest, a soft rustling broke through the chatter and shouts of the old Western film the man found on the static snowy television set.

Jeff stood eagerly and went to kneel at the head of the boy's bed, as he always did when a child was just waking up from being rescued by him. He found it better for the child if they saw him at eye level. Helped them feel safer. "Wake up, sleepy head."

The boy moaned, but didn't open his eyes.

"What's your name, kid?"

No response that time aside from a grimace and a painful wince when the boy moved his head.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to help, okay? Gonna keep you safe from all those nasties who were gettin' you."

The lump under the blankets tried to roll over, away from Jeff, but couldn't make it.

"You'll be pretty weak for a while. Lost a lotta blood. Nothing you won't pull through, though. What's your name?"

Mystery boy moaned again, but this time, his eyes peeled open just a few millimeters. "Where?" He murmured slowly.

"Where are we? Well, we're in the Gateway Motel. Carroll, Iowa, is the town. Don't know where they picked you up from, but we'll get you home as soon as we can, okay? As soon as it's safe for you to go home."

"Da's comin'…" The boy mumbled, his eyes sliding shut. "'e's gotta be…"

"Your dad's looking for you? What's his name, then? I'll find him, give him a call." Jeff said, then muttered to himself. "Keep him outta trouble too, if I can swing it."

"'e always comes."

* * *

"Humboldt, Iowa?"

"That's what Ash said."

"And you trust this guy?"

"Smartest drunk I know."

"That's not reassuring, Bobby."

"Well, suck it up. It's your best lead on Dean. The kid's phone tracked to Humboldt. You gonna take that information and work with it or keep bitchin' to me about my tech guy?"

"What do you think?" John growled quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping kids- and dog- who were nestled on the couch and floor in the living room. The father needed them to be right where he could see them. No more missing kids. "Watch 'em, okay?" He got up from his chair at the kitchen table and went to grab his duffel before heading out.

"Come again? You're not goin' against those fangs alone, ya idjit."

"I need someone to watch the boys and right now, all I have is you."

"I ain't no on-call babysitter. They're gonna come with _us_ when _we_ go together."

"I can't put Sam in danger like that again." John grabbed his duffel and turned, walking toward the door.

Bobby stood from the desk and beat him to it. He planted himself in front of his friend and crossed his arms. "We don't even know what happened, John."

"We know that woman was here asking where Dean was and that he disappeared when she left."

"From a second story window that was unlocked from the _inside_. I still think he just ran off. He wants to protect his family and that was his way of doin' it."

John wanted to rip Bobby a new one, but restrained himself. Instead, he just frowned and went for the front door instead of the blocked side door. "Watch them."

* * *

Three and a half hours later, John pulled the Impala onto an unkempt road lined with unkempt trailers on either side. "Why in the hell would Dean run from us just to hole up in a place like this? No way he left on his own." Glancing down, John confirmed the address given him by the drunk MIT dropout over the phone. Bobby's 'tech guy'. _Hope he thinks better than he sounds._

He stopped across the street from the address and cut the engine.

John wasted no time in readying his weapons- his pistol and a machete strapped to his belt- and was at the back door of the ramshackle place within a minute.

Adrenaline surged through his veins as he shoved open the door, which gave easily. That was his first worrisome discovery.

His second was the rather large puddle of blood that spotted the kitchen floor. It was dried in such a way that one could tell a body had been in it when it started coagulating.

He found vampire signs all over the building: the shades were all drawn with blankets overtop of them to block _all_ the light. Random splotches of blood on the floor and carpets and furniture. Belongings toppled and ruined. Plants dying in their shattered pots below the windowsills.

The trailer's previous owner strewn about the master bedroom in a nauseating display of innards and sticky red 'décor'.

However, the most worrisome thing John found was only located after he cleared the building- finding it empty and harmless- and decided to call his son's phone, which had been there, at that trailer, not six hours ago.

Dean's phone was in his backpack, which was shoved under a bed in what John guessed had been a spare bedroom. The window was open.

He really hoped that Dean either was there and gone before the vampires moved in- but why would his backpack be there- or that he'd escaped from them and was still nearby- but why wouldn't he have called for backup yet?

"Dammit. Kiddo, where are you?" John felt his heart sink as he held tight to the strap on his son's backpack.

* * *

"I'll call the police. They'll arrest you."

"Oh no they won't. Who d'you think they'll believe? The bratty, whiny, good-for-nothin' little brat livin' in a basement or the lady of the household who's been around this town for _years_?"

Dean tugged again at the handcuff that connected him to the radiator in the living room. He'd already drawn blood doing that- there was a stain under him on the rug that he sat on to hide it from Lucy- but he still hoped that maybe _this_ would be the pull that freed him.

As if he could be freed just by pulling harder.

"I'm old enough that they'd listen to me."

"But would they take the word of a teenage misfit who already has a record? I think not." Lucy grinned and took a few calm steps forward, slapping Dean and causing him to spray the blood already leaking from his split lip across the room onto the wallpaper. "Why the hell did you do that, you little shit? Do you know how expensive that wallpaper was?"

"Just undo the cuff and I'll go to the basement. I won't bother you for the rest of the week, at least."

"You bother me just by being here, you brat."

"It wasn't my choice, okay?" Dean shouted, making the woman flinch.

That just made her even angrier. She slapped him again. This time, he chose to stay sprawled to the side on the floor against the cold radiator. "Don't use that tone with me."

"I didn't choose to come live with you. I was sent here and you guys agreed to take me in. I had nowhere else to go." _Because there's no way my dad is still looking for me. Not after I… not after what happened to the baby._

"You know the tragic part about all this? I _wanted_ you, boy. I wanted a son to baby and raise and love. I wanted what I couldn't have and I was sorely disappointed in what you had to offer."

"I wasn't a baby. Is that what you mean?"

"No. You weren't even a _child_. You were a traumatized adult with a quick temper and no manners. If I knew what you would've been like, I never would've let Jerry bring you here."

"Guess you shouldn't have slept around, then, huh?" Dean muttered. "Kept your legs closed, maybe you would've been about to have your own stupid kids and never had to deal with _me_."

He was kicked in the stomach for his words.

"If only you knew the pain I had to go through. The pain I live with every day." Lucy glared at Dean, who returned the look defiantly. Then, a sinister smile grew on her face. "I think you should. I think it would be a fun lesson for you."

Dean's hard look melted into a look of unnerved fear. "You wouldn't. You- you can't." He pulled as hard as he could on the cuff put on him by Lucy after he failed to complete all his chores the night before.

"I can. And I will. It'll be like taking candy from a baby. Oh, wait. You were never a baby, were you?" Lucy turned and walked to the closet in the kitchen. She returned with an unlabeled bottle and a dishrag. "Of course audience participation is preferable, but you aren't so small any longer and Jerry will be home in an hour. Can't have any lumps or bumps on me when he comes around. He'll start asking questions. You, on the other hand, you will keep your mouth shut about _all_ your aches and pains. It's that or live on the streets, boy. Make your choice now." She poured a small amount of clear liquid onto the rag and walked closer to Dean.

"Stop. I'll do the chores, I'll stay up and- and out of school until the whole house is spotless. I'll organize everything, I'll polish everything until it shines. Until you can see yoru face in it. I'll do anything you want _except that_." Dean managed to keep his rising panic under control as the cruel woman came closer and closer still. He pressed his back against the radiator and raised his free arm to protect himself. "Please."

"Hold still."

Lucy lunged forward before Dean anticipated her action. She caught his free hand in one of hers and pinned it under her knee while she pressed the rag hard over his mouth and nose. No matter how hard Dean struggled, the woman barely budged. She weight twice what he did and Dean was weak with hunger- she'd kept him from having lunch and dinner that day. She said he needed to finish those chores first. He'd been at it since four that morning.

Dean barely noticed when Lucy moved off of him. Well, not so much moved as fell to the side and screamed.

* * *

The next thing he knew, Dean was laid out on the couch- the one he wasn't ever allowed to sit on- and someone was tapping his face.

"Come on, it's time to wake up."

Dean batted weakly at the hand and coughed. The fumes from whatever Lucy put in that rag still burned in his throat.

"Dean. Open your eyes."

 _Gotta know what's happening. Gotta… gotta open…_

"Wake up. I need to talk to you."

 _That's not Lucy. Not Jerold…_

"C'mon, _please_ , kiddo. Open your eyes."

 _Kiddo?_ Dean forced his eyes open painfully slowly to see the blurry dark shape kneeling beside him.

"There he is. Hey, kiddo, can you hear me?"

Dean blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus. He nodded.

"Do- do you remember me?"

Dean shook his head. The blurry shape didn't look very familiar.

But it sounded disappointed. "That's okay. Just… just try to wake up. I have some questions."

"Cop?" Dean managed to croak, before coughing again. His eyes closed before he could stop them.

"No. No, but you're safe now. I won't let that woman touch you again."

Dean relaxed visibly at the new information. The guy sounded big. If he said he was going to protect him and really wanted to, then Dean would be safe. He knew it.

"Where are you, Dean?"

That was enough to have Dean's eyes sliding open once more, focusing a bit better on the figure beside him. "Huh?"

"Where are you, right now? I need to know."

"Jerold… house." Dean had to force the words past the burning in his throat. It was making his eyes water.

"No, no. Dean, this is a dream. You aren't really in Jerry's house, okay? I need you to tell me where you are right now."

Confusion swept over Dean and he tried to push himself up only to be held down by a strong, fatherly arm.

 _Fatherly_.

Finally, Dean's eyes agreed to focus and it took him a few seconds to take in the scene before him. "Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me. You're my little trooper. Remember that?"

"Y-yeah. I can do anything."

"Oorah." The pair spoke at the same and Dean coughed.

"But… but… this is a dream?" Dean asked, struggling to make his brain function like it should.

"Yes. You don't live with that bitch anymore and Jerry is dead. I found you, you live with me and Sam, your brother. But you went missing last night and I need to know where you went. Where were you taken, Dean? Where are you?"

"I was taken again?"

"We don't know what happened exactly, but we can't find you. Do you know where you are now? Where you went to sleep last?"

"I… uh…" Dean wracked his brain, pushing past the apparently fake pain in his throat to ground himself. He remembered Lucy's attack very clearly, but… Dad stopped her before she did what Dean remembered.

He really _was_ dreaming.

Dad ended one of Dean's worst nightmares before it even started.

 _So what happened then? I… I got sick. Jerold went on a hunt without me and died. Lucy… I ran. Got pneumonia in a lake. Homeless in Orem… the Winchesters._

 _Dad. And my brother. A hospital._

 _I ran away and Dad found me. He actually wanted me back._

 _But a… a vampire got me? Winthrop took me and- and Sammy. Is he okay? Is he-_ "Is Sam okay?"

John saw the panicked look on his little boy's face and realized he was retracing his steps. "Yeah, he's fine. He stayed back with Bobby while I went to look for you."

"Good." _We went back to a hospital. My side hurt so bad… Got out, went to… to Bobby's house. I left. Winthrop found me. But he knocked me out, drank too much. I wasn't sleeping then, I was unconscious._

"Do you remember where you are?"

"There- there's a guy here."

John wanted the far off look on Dean's face with mild alarm. "The vampire? Winthrop? Or- or Diesel?"

"No, somebody else…"

"Who?" _Give me a name, I can find a person. I can find a human or a place, just give me something to go on, kid._

"I don't know."

"What do you remember? How long did you travel?"

 _He… he said…_ "Carroll."

"What?"

"He said Carroll. Iowa, I think." Dean swallowed and winced at the fire. "Gateway Motel."

John smiled and squeezed his son's shoulder. "Atta boy, Dean. I'm coming for you, okay? Just sit tight. I'll be there soon."

"You're sure this is a dream?"

"I'm sure, kiddo. I'm sorry I broke my promise."

"What promise?"

* * *

"C'mon, kid. Rise and shine. Gotta get some fluids into you before you shrivel up like a raisin."

Dean's eyes slowly peeled open. He wasn't in Jerold's living room anymore. He wasn't sure where he was.

"Well look at you." A tall man sauntered over and knelt beside the bed, putting Dean instantly on edge. "Bright eyed and bushy tailed, huh?" He was smiling but Dean was too unnerved to care.

"Who?"

"Who am I? Name's Jefferson Freedman. I found you in some bad company, got you out as quick as I could."

"Vampires?"

That stopped Jeff in his tracks. _Is he actually a civilian?_ "Who are you?"

* * *

"You thinking about telling me your name any time soon?" Jeff asked as he handed the boy the Styrofoam take-out bowl of oatmeal. After nearly an hour of back and forth interrogation, neither side got anywhere with the other. It took way too long for Jeff to realize that the kid was probably cranky because he was starving. Luckily, there was a little diner right next door to the motel that he could run over to when the boy nodded off.

Food seemed to be solution to all his woes because the kid was finally starting to relax. "Maybe."

"Would be nice to know. Help me get you home, for sure."

Dean took the bowl eagerly and sipped at it for a minute before looking up at the man who had gone to sit at the table. He was watching Dean eat, but it wasn't creepy. It reminded him of how Dad did things. _Dad. I… maybe I can't do this alone._ "Dean."

"Hmm?" Jeff focused in at the sound of the boy's voice, pulling his mind back from wondering who he could call to figure out who the boy belonged to. _Ain't no way he's ready to talk so fast._ "What was that?"

"My name is Dean. Winchester."

Had Jeff been eating, he would've spat the food out in shock. As it was, he could barely thick straight, let alone speak. _Couldn't be. I just heard him wrong._ "Come again?"

"Dean Winchester." Dean repeated, his expression somewhat nervous. He didn't know why the man was reacting like that. It was just a name, right? He wasn't wanted by any humans, right?

"Dean Winchester." Jeff said to confirm. When Dean nodded, Jeff immediately rushed to his pack, making the boy flinch with his sudden movement. He dug around frantically until he pulled a phone out of his pack.

 _I sure hope Henrietta knows John. This can't be happening._

Henrietta, Jeff's go-to research and contacts gem, did not know John, but she did know a man who seemed to know everyone she didn't. That was the number Jeff called next.

"What?" The voice on the other end didn't sound welcoming, but Jeff really hadn't expected it to. The man was a hunter, after all.

"Do you know a John Winchester?"

At the name, Dean seemed to perk up, the soup forgotten in his hands. _He knows his daddy's name. Then why… why isn't he home yet?_

"Who's askin'?"

"Uh, this is Jeff Freedman. I used to hunt with John."

"Why you lookin' for 'im now?"

"I think I just found-"

Jeff flinched so hard the phone flew out of his hands. Dean jumped and the hot soup went flying, covering his arms in scalding liquid.

All this commotion was because the motel door was slammed open, sending a blast of freezing night air over both inhabitants. A dark figure loomed in the doorway, features obscured by the bright streetlight behind him.

Jeff pulled his knife from the holster at his hip and rushed to stand between the door and the boy. No way were any vampires getting their hands on _this_ kid _again_ because of him. He'd die first.

The room was dangerously still for a solid five seconds before a timid voice sounded.

"Dad?"

Confusion washed over Jeff at the word that came from behind him, but a second later, he realized exactly who he was looking at. "John."

The figure entered the room and greeted Jeff with a strong right hook to the chin, sending the man reeling into the nightstand, shattering the lamp that stood there. Before he could speak, Jeff was lifted by the back of his jacket and hurled over the bed nearest the door, the empty one, landing with a pained 'oomph'.

"C'mon, kiddo, time to go." John said quickly as Jeff rolled onto his back and panted for the breath that had been knocked out of him. Dean sat up quickly and stood, nearly falling as dizziness washed over him. If Dad hadn't been holding on to his arm, Dean would've kissed the carpet.

"But, Dad, he's nice-"

"Now."

"John Winchester, you haven't changed at all."

John stopped in his tracks, letting go of his son's arm and allowing the boy to fall back onto the slightly damp bed that smelled like soup.

"Your boys are more important than your own hunting partner, right?" The sentence had a smile in it, which only confused John more. That is, until he peered over the bed and saw the pained but grinning face of someone he knew a lifetime ago.

* * *

 **A/N: As many probably guessed, it's Jefferson! The same one from John's dream. John's old hunting partner. Exciting, right?**

 **Stay tuned... and leave me a review!**

 **See you Monday...**


	43. Seek and Destroy

**A/N: Vivi here! Happy Monday! (Or Tuesday, just for Mungojassie!) I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and it's a little longer than intended, but I think the plot warrants it.**

 **Previous warnings apply. Also, this chapter is pretty violent, mentions of past rape and abuse, physical violence described. And we lose a character, so character death. You'll never guess who... sorrynotsorry.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _John stopped in his tracks, letting go of his son's arm and allowing the boy to fall back onto the slightly damp bed that smelled like soup._

 _"Your boys are more important than your own hunting partner, right?" The sentence had a smile in it, which only confused John more. That is, until he peered over the bed and saw the pained but grinning face of someone he knew a lifetime ago._

* * *

"You son of a bitch!" John bellowed, seeing red as he recognized the man who singlehandedly tore his family apart.

"Now, John, I know what you're thinking-"

"Like hell you do." John rounded the bed, his son forgotten for the time being. He planted a foot into the man's hip. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to leave a bruise. He was beyond furious but he wasn't quite murderous with the man yet. And he knew just how painful damaged internal organs were. "That's some kind of nerve you got coming anywhere near my son, Jeff."

"I didn't know-"

"Where were you when I was looking for Dean? Where were you when I called that day? When the search started? Why the hell didn't you stick around to make sure the vamp job was done, asshole?"

"I thought it _was_ done, John. I figured when you didn't call my motel phone that night we were good to go. I headed for home in the morning. Honest, man, I didn't know the vampires escaped and kidnapped your boy until three days later when Henrietta told me some hunter named Winchester lost his kid." Jeff put his arms up to protect his face when John's expression darkened.

"Why didn't you call? Or come back? I was in that town for _weeks_ looking for him."

"I- I don't know."

"You _don't know_?"

Jeff bit his lip and swallowed his pride. _Now or never I reckon. Been comin' on for years and he deserves an explanation._ "I was ashamed, okay? Your little tike was taken because I didn't think he needed protectin'. Kid was five years old; of course he needed his daddy. 'Specially with vampires on the prowl. Look, I was stupid then. I'm still stupid, but sure as hell not about kids anymore, John. By the time I convinced myself to call you, your number changed and nobody knew it. So I started huntin' only vampires. I… started lookin' for your boy by myself."

"What?" Some of the steam went out of John's fury.

"I couldn't find you, nobody had a number for ya, so I figured we'd bump into each other eventually while looking for Dean."

"How long?"

"How long what?" Jeff lowered his arms at the subtle softening in John's menacing voice.

"How long were you looking for him?"

Jeff risked a small grin. "Longer than you, I reckon. Seems like you found him before I did."

John stepped back a few feet and crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

"He recognized you. You recognized him. You've obviously met before this moment. He don't look nothin' like the pictures no more."

"No, what do you mean _you_ found him? Where was he?"

"In a dingy trailer with two of the vamps we didn't kill and a lady victim they musta took with 'em when they ran."

"Wait- you didn't kill them?"

Jeff did not understand the sudden wave of anger and clenching of fists that occurred at his last statement. "N-no. I found a kid passed out on a bed, bloody and pale. He took priority. That- that's how I work now, John, since I realized it was my fault you lost your son. I don't want anyone else losing a child because of me. Even pissed my partner off makin' him leave without killing the vamps so we could get the kid somewhere safe. I didn't know who the boy was until about ten seconds before you came in."

"Dean was with the vampires?" The blood rushed to John's feet as his worst nightmare came true. His baby boy was hurt by those fangs _a-fucking-gain_ and he hadn't been there to protect him. He failed _again_.

"Yeah, but we caught 'em off guard. I take it he was kidnapped recently?"

John was about to nod when a soft voice came from behind him. "No."

"What was that?" The father practically growled, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the kid was still mostly okay. Dean sat on the bed, wide eyed and shaking a bit as he watched the interaction. The skin on his exposed arm was bright red. _What happened?_ "Dean, y'okay?"

Dean looked up at his father with a blank, shell shocked expression. "Uh…"

"Stay down." John pointed and glared at Jeff before returning to stand in front of his kid. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I... I ran away."

That hurt. It was like a burning hot vice clamping down on John's heart. _He left on his own? He left me- us… because he wanted to?_ "You ran away?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why did you leave, Dean? I thought you were happy with us."

"That's why."

John waited a few seconds for the response to make sense, but it refused. "Huh?"

"He was gonna come. No matter what. I couldn't…" Dean looked to the carpet at John's feet and hunched in on himself like he was being scolded. "You and Sammy were…"

 _Oh. That's why._ "Dean, we can protect ourselves. Bobby and me, we can protect _all_ of us. We weren't in any more danger than we usually are. Are you saying you left to take on the vampires _alone_?"

Dean nodded slowly, only hunching further into himself.

"What the hell, Dean? What possessed you to-"

 _He's shaking._ John noticed too late to reign in his frustration. He'd yelled and made Dean flinch. Made the kid's nerves even worse. "Son, that was a dumb move." The father tried to keep his voice even and calm. It wasn't easy.

Dean sniffled.

John sighed and knelt down before his kid, ignoring his aching and popping knees. "No more lone wolf attitude, okay? You'll get yourself killed and I can't let that happen."

The teen sniffled again and refused to look up.

"How in the hell did you find those bastards, anyway? Even _Bobby_ was having trouble locating vampiric activity."

"I… uh, I didn't find them."

"Explain."

There was silence.

"Now, Dean. That's an order."

Dean shifted uncomfortably and winced at his burning arm. "I… I hitched a ride in a pickup that stopped at Bobby's house. It went to the trailer park and I jumped out, walked to a bench… I was trying to figure out where to go, but I got ambushed. Diesel bit me and I… I think I passed out."

"Diesel as in the first mate, Diesel?" Jeff asked from the floor. "Thought I killed that sucker four years ago."

"Shut up." John growled sharply, silencing the man. "That truck belonged to Mrs. Ross, Dean. She came to the house looking for us."

"What?" Dean asked, terror in his eyes. "She knew where we were?"

"No, she knew where Bobby was. Bobby was the one who found her when I was trying to figure out who you were. Back at the woods, remember?" John said quietly, trying to calm the nerve-wracked kid. It pained him to see the fear in those dinosaur green eyes. He missed the innocence that used to shine there.

"Uh-huh."

"She knew he had my phone number and that I was the last person to see you. She left thinking she struck out, Dean." John frowned and sighed heavily. "But you just had to tag along with her."

"I didn't know it was her." Dean's voice was quiet and he squirmed again, unable to sit still while his arm still burned and his head and body ached like they did.

"I know you didn't." John squeezed the back of the boy's neck and gave him a reassuring, weary smile. "You're safe now. That's all that matters. No more running off, got it?"

"Got it." Dean sniffled again and ran his burned arm under his nose. That only made it hurt worse; he winced.

"Can I get up yet?"

John rolled his eyes and stood, looking over the bed with deflated frustration in his expression. "You got him out of there, Jefferson? You and a partner?"

"That's what I said. I was about to call you, too, but you beat me to it."

"Get up."

Jeff stood and stretched out his back before rubbing at his jaw. "You must work out, Winchester. Old man like you shouldn't have a knock like that."

"Can it, Freedman. I've had enough shit for one day, okay?" John frowned at the man before sighing in defeat. "But… thanks for… all that. He means the world to me."

"I know." Jeff sat on the empty bed, facing away from the father and son. John heard a soft hiss and looked down just in time to see Dean painfully flex his supposedly 'good' arm.

The oldest Winchester's brow knit in confusion. "Jeff, what the hell happened to my kid?" He knelt down and gently took Dean's arm in his hands, looking it over. The skin was red and hot, but nothing more was amiss.

"Gave him some hot food. Kid was starving and dehydrated. Still is, I reckon. Musta spilled somethin' when you kicked my door down." Jeff said from his place on the bed. He glanced over his shoulder to look the kid up and down, noticing the red marks for the first time. "Ouch."

"You get burned?" John held Dean's arm higher as if to make a point.

Dean nodded, but still refused to look up.

"Alright, kiddo, look at me." It took a good thirty seconds, but eventually a set of red rimmed, dinosaur green eyes met his own. "No more pity party. I think we learned our lesson. We'll sort this out, but until then, I want you to be honest and upfront with me. I won't hurt you, remember? You don't have to be scared. I'm not mad at you."

Dean nodded and looked away.

"And- look at me." John waited patiently until Dean complied. "And you need to communicate what you need. You're not a baby, you're not some helpless victim. You're my son. My seventeen year old son. So talk to me."

"I burned my arm."

"How bad?"

"It stings."

"Alright. I'll get the med kit." John ran out to the Impala and grabbed his med kit. He worked on the burns while he continued talking. Their conversation wasn't over yet. It needed to be had and couldn't wait; he'd waited before and nearly lost his son because of it.

"Why did you think it was a good idea to run?"

Dean grimaced as his father ran a rough washcloth over his tender skin, biting his lip. _You sure you won't punish me for this?_ "I… It's my fight. I didn't want you and Sammy to be in danger because of me."

The washcloth was set aside and burn cream applied on the now bright pink flesh. "We're in danger because of _me_ , Dean. _I_ killed the vampire's mate. He wants revenge on _me_ , not you. You and Sammy are just tools to him."

"I know." Dean tried not to remember all the long nights he spent crying in a pool of blood while Winthrop told him all about his plans for revenge. He tried not to remember how much worse it got after Nutmeg was killed, when Diesel did the same thing but so much more violently, so much more slowly and painfully.

"I can't protect you if you run from me. Do you understand that? I need you to stay so I can take care of you." John began wrapping a length of thin white gauze over the arm, just to keep the burn cream in place. Hopefully the injury was no worse than a bad sunburn and would heal quickly.

Dean sniffled again and felt his lower lip start to tremble. He bit it hard to hide the motion, but his vision was getting blurry with moisture that he knew he couldn't hold for very long. _I can't lose this, though. What if he comes and I could've stopped him?_

John noticed all the kid's emotional signals probably before Dean did. _It's been a long day for everybody, kiddo._ "Tired?"

"Yeah." The sound was barely a whisper.

"I bet. Let's get you out of those dirty clothes, okay? I think I have some clean stuff in the trunk. You good with sleeping in the car until we get back home?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Dean loved that old car. He could fall asleep in it no matter the time or place, as long as it was safe to do so. As it was, he lay in the backseat, swaying along with the curves in the road and cocooned in the thick wool blanket that had become one of his closest friends.

John loved that kid. He could- and had, back when the boys were little- drive for hours on end just to get him and his brother to really rest, sleeping contently in the backseat. As it was, he guided the car as gently and smoothly as possible down the two lane highway, eager to return to his littlest and make sure _all_ of his boys were okay. Hopefully Bobby had a fresh lead on the vampires, now that they were on the move again.

Jeff followed behind the Impala in his SUV. He wasn't following the Winchesters per se. He just so happened to live up north and was headed in the same direction. And he was certainly glad that he was when the Impala started to slow down and eventually pulled off on the shoulder. Jeff pulled off, too, just to be safe; they'd only just found the kid and no way was he letting that boy get into any kind of danger any time soon without putting up one hell of a fight.

Jeff wasn't taking any chances, even if it was probably just an overheated engine.

"Dammit." John swore softly, getting out of the car and closing the door quietly, trying not to wake his son.

"What's the matter?" Jeff parked behind the Impala and joined John at the front of the car, where the man already had the hood up.

"I got no idea. Just tuned her up a few days ago." John leaned in and looked over the engine compartment with critical eyes before his gaze landed on a small black rectangle, nestled amongst the wires, that _he_ didn't put there. His eyes widened and he stood straight up, looking down the highway for any oncoming vehicles. "We need to go."

Seeing no cars coming either way, he figured he had a little time before whoever- or whatever- planted that kill switch arrived. John raced to the back door of his car and threw it open, shaking his son's leg violently to wake the boy up. "Dean, we need to go. C'mon, hurry. Into Jeff's car."

Jeff had his gun drawn the moment John stood up from his inspection with alarm on his face. Hell, the man already had his passenger side doors open and was waiting for the Winchesters to _move_ _it_.

They were being stalked.

Dean hadn't woken up all the way when John forcibly removed him from the backseat, supporting most of his weight and guiding his unsteady feet toward the SUV at a pace that confused Dean's sleep muddled mind. He was shoved into the backseat, his door slammed as soon as he was inside. Jeff was already in the driver's seat, the vehicle running as John got in and closed his own door.

The car hadn't driven six feet when a loud bang made the three hunters jump.

Dean's door was ripped clean off. Jeff slammed the brakes.

Diesel grabbed Dean by the front of his jacket and jerked him up and out of the vehicle, tossing him like a ragdoll into the tall grass beside the road.

John was out of the car before it stopped, his gun unloading into the vampire.

It did little good.

"Dean, run!" John shouted, hoping with all his willpower that Jeff had a big knife handy.

He did. Being a vampire hunter, Jeff had machetes stashed all over; in his trunk, under the hood, under the spare tire on the back, in his door panel, in the backseat, and strapped to his shin, usually. This time, he took the door panel piece.

Diesel saw him coming from a mile away. Just as John's clip came up blank, Jeff rushed in, blade drawn; it was almost too easy to dodge. Diesel body checked Jeff, now off balance from his missed swing, sending him into the side of his SUV and effectively knocking him out as his head bounced off a window. John was next; he landed hard in the grass a few feet from Dean.

"Dad?" Dean hissed, finally fully awake. He was scared shitless when Dad didn't respond, didn't even move; a piece of discarded road asphalt lay under his father's head. He was out cold. " _Dad_?"

"I knew this was a good plan." Diesel grinned as Dean stood on weak, newborn deer legs. Dehydration and blood loss were difficult to deal with no matter how many times you've already been through them. "Your friend is a fool for not killing me when he had the chance, but I do appreciate the favor."

"Leave us alone." Dean growled, trying to sound as confident and menacing as he could with a cumbersome brace on one arm, white gauze on the other, and skin that rivaled the gauze in color.

"You'll never be alone again, Win. Not until you die, that is. Master is retrieving your brothers as we speak and we'll have a grand family reunion once I get the two of you under control."

"What?" Dean froze. _He doesn't know where Sammy and Cas are. Winthrop can't know, right? Dad said-_

"You led us straight to them, boy. The female didn't stop on her trip to or from Singer's house. There's only one place she could've picked you up, don't you see? And we knew you were probably with your pathetic father and brothers after so many days of evading us, so it only made perfect sense that they would be there. Lucky for me, I got to go after you and Papa while Master and the woman round up the rest. The two of you put up much more of a fight, I'm sure; I like a challenge."

Dean glanced down and saw that yes, Dad was still not moving. His skin crawled. _If he catches me here, he'll get Dad before he wakes up. I gotta- I gotta do something. I gotta give him time to wake up. I gotta run._ Dean looked past Diesel and saw nothing but an empty field, a few sparse weeds popping up here and there. The only other option for a decent escape route was directly behind him, since running through a field or down the road would leave Dean exposed and easy prey.

He didn't know what was behind him until he turned and started to run. A few hundred yards to his right, across a well-kept, manicured grass lawn, was a huge warehouse-looking building. _Good enough._ Dean jumped over the ditch, nearly falling in when the tall grass surrounding it masked it's actual size, and sprinted for all he was worth toward the building.

He could hear Diesel laughing as the monster gave chase.

Lucky for Dean, the thing liked to play with his food. Diesel chased just slowly enough that Dean was able to pull ahead and reach the building first. He wasted no time in spiking a window with his elbow, shattering it on the first desperate try. The glass along the bottom was barely given a second thought as he swiped his jacketed arm across it to clear the worst of the jagged pieces before diving through the opening.

It was dark in there and the whole place smelled like bleach. Dean was up a split second, running through a series of double doors until there were no more doors.

He stumbled to a halt in a large, dark room. He knew it was large because his footsteps echoed against a far wall, giving the place an eerie empty feeling.

It was so deadly quiet that Dean was able to hear Diesel coming through the window he'd broken. With his good hand on the wall, Dean ran to the far side of the room and crouched behind something big and solid he felt in the darkness.

Too soon, the room was flooded with light and boomed with footsteps much louder and more confident than his had been.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Cautiously, Dean peered over what he realized was a factory conveyer belt assembly to see Diesel standing in the door he'd come through.

The only door.

In a processing room of what he ironically concluded was a slaughterhouse.

Conveyer belts wove through the space, big meat hooks swung from tracks in the ceiling, and there were drains in the floor. Big drains. Everything smelled like bleach and was sparkling clean; Dean figured the place was closed up tight for the day, since there was no trace of any blood or flesh anywhere he could see. That's not what he was concerned about, however.

Even as Dean watched, a sinister grin spread across Diesel's face. Dean, petrifying fear nearly gripping him, ducked down before Diesel had the chance to spot him.

"Your great protectors aren't here, are they, boy? Where's that man, the one who left you like a lamb to wolves? The heroic idiot who chose to flee, _you_ in his arms, instead of eliminating the target? Even our master isn't here to hold me back, like he _always_ did. And he needn't know what befall you. Not now. Not now that you've run into this death trap. With no witnesses, I can tell him you fell on a knife or killed yourself before I could detain you to bring to him. He'll believe me. He'll be upset, but he won't question my loyalty. I've been too good to him for too long; he won't take this from me. He can't have all the fun."

Diesel's footsteps echoed once again through the space, making Dean tense up and hunker down even further. "I'll be sure to take as much pleasure as possible in the next few minutes, while I drain your life. Granted, my revenge won't be complete until your father is shriveled and pale as the new fallen snow, but removing you from the picture will accomplish a third of my master's vision. And when your family is wiped out, that of Master Winthrop and myself will be avenged. Meg and Martha will finally be able to rest soundly in their graves."

Dean started to sweat; he was nervous. Beyond nervous, actually. He was almost panicking, questioning his decision to in the first place. Having Dad by his side would fill him with confidence; instead, though, he was dreading the moment he saw his father again. The man might not even want to talk to him after what Dean did; he ran away _again_ , right after Dad told him not to. Hopefully Dad would let him say goodbye to Sammy, in the very least, assuming he woke up and remembered what happened.

Well, all that was counting on the fast-fading possibly of Dean even made it out of the slaughterhouse alive.

"I can _smell_ you, Win. Just as scared as you were all those years ago, aren't you, boy? You knew then that no one was going to save you, to even _help_ you, and you know just as well now. Little Win ran away from Daddy to face his fears but now the fears are here, in the flesh, and somebody's knees are knocking. Daddy's not going to save you. Why not come out and get it over with? You and I both know what's about to happen."

As quietly as possible, Dean scurried down the length of the conveyer belt, struggling to come up with a plan of attack. He couldn't just belly-up and let himself and his family be killed. _Okay okay okay. Got some options. Got lots of options, right? There's, uh, there's metal panels on the machines. Those're probably sharp enough to sever a head. But I'll end up cutting my fingers clean through if I use those. Glass? Probably same result. No windows anyway._

He looked up, taking in his environment while also trying to keep track of the footfalls of Diesel, across the room. _Ceilings are all I beams and industrial insulation. Maybe I could get a meat hook off one of those tracks and… and… what? I gotta sever the head for him to actually die. I can't just jab a hook into his chest and call it a day. I could hit him with one of those floor grates. But this arm… I doubt I can even lift one of those things._ The massive grate over a long channel drain in the floor practically mocked him as he ran alongside it. The sections of grate probably weighed at least fifty pounds each. _I got no weapons. What the hell am I supposed to do?!_

"Is that panic I smell?"

 _Dammit._ Dean slowly peered around the end of the conveyer belt when he came to it. Diesel was nowhere in sight.

The door Dean came in through was now on the other side of the room and this end was bare, without so much as a window to offer refuge. There were big, thick pipes climbing the walls, but Dean didn't think he could climb them at all, let alone fast enough to escape Diesel before being caught.

"It suits you, boy."

 _Okay, calm down. What would Dad do?_ Dean took a deep breath and tried to quiet his rapid-fire thoughts. _He'd… he'd assess the situation. Dad would take inventory._

 _So that's where I got it from._

Dean took another shaky, deep breath. _So, uh, angry vampire hunting me in the processing room of an old slaughterhouse. All the weapons are outside, he's between me and the door, no windows, no way out. My arm is still super weak and my side hurts like a bitch. I'm not bleeding but he can still kinda smell me. Uh… what else… There're conveyer belts and tracks of meat hooks on chains-_

 _Meat hooks on chains._ An idea popped into Dean's head and sent a shiver down his spine. _But if I get that close to him, he'll have time to retaliate._

 _Gotta take the risk. It's the only way._

 _Sorry, Dad._

"Oh, and what's this? Where's that delicious panic gone off to?" Diesel taunted. A loud thud had Dean flinching; the fang had leapt over one of the conveyer belts not far from Dean's own.

He didn't have much time.

He needed more time. As he surveyed the hooks hanging from the ceiling, Dean removed his necklace, cherishing the weight one last time and hoping he'd see it again. With one quick glance behind him, Dean reared back and threw the metal charm across the room, wincing at the loud clang it made on the floor.

Diesel took the bait. Echoing footsteps stormed to the sound, allowing Dean the precious few moments he needed to crouch, run quietly to the nearby control panel, and grab a remote that he hoped was for the winch system that moved the track. He tucked it into his pocket and stood as confidently as possible, a now-or-never kind of resolve lending strength to his shaking hands. "Diesel."

The vampire whipped around, looking annoyed that his target was somehow across the room and not where the sound had been. "Come to your senses, child? I always knew you were a bright one."

"You don't know me."

"I know you better than you know yourself." Diesel began to approach slowly, like a lion coming for its wounded antelope. "You're a scared, whiny, little human boy who craves affection and affirmation when you've done nothing to deserve it. No one will miss you when you're gone. No one will remember you. You'll be nothing more than a stain on the floor by the time I'm through with you."

"I don't have to defend my worth to you. I know who I am."

"That's right. You're a worthless, pathetic-"

"I'm Dean Winchester. I'm a son and a brother and a survivor and a _hunter_. And you. You're the _hunted_." Dean grinned darkly at the look of surprise and flash of worry in the vampire's eyes before they returned to dark pleasure and danger. "How does it feel to know that losing to your punching bag will be your swan song?"

Diesel didn't answer. He emitted an inhuman growl and bared his fangs before charging Dean, leaping onto the conveyer belts and sprinting full force.

Dean moved aside just in time, ducking out of the way and allowing Diesel to collide with the wall. That didn't stop him, didn't even phase the monster; he turned and followed Dean as he ran.

The lowest part of the track dipped from the ceiling just a few yards in front of Dean when Diesel caught up. The kid yelped as the vampire gripped the back of his jacket and threw him hard in the same direction they'd been running. Dean landed on the concrete floor and groaned; at least it was his good shoulder that cushioned his fall. Instead of shooting, debilitating pain, the worst he got was a strong ache and some burning.

By the time he was on his feet, Diesel was before him again, this time wrapping both hands around Dean's neck and squeezing. He pinned Dean against the wall, the vampire's head nearly hitting a few chains as he stood before them, the hooks dangling to just below his shoulder blades.

It took Dean a good few seconds to realize all this, of course. He was trying to control his panic, clawing desperately at the fingers that were keeping life-giving oxygen from entering his body and bruising his neck and throat. If there was one thing that truly scared Dean Winchester, it was suffocating.

 _I can do this. I can do this._

 _I wanna see Sammy and Dad again._

 _I_ have _to._

"You made a series of very poor decisions, little one. You've endangered yourself. Now, we both know I have every right to punish you after you do that, don't we? What will it be this time? Reminding the world who you really are? Shall we draw some blood? Perhaps all of it this time? Or should be go the extra mile? I'll bet you're just as fresh as you were all those years ago. Master doesn't need to know."

Dean struggled to reign in his panic as his vision was ringed by fuzzy black shapes that started to merge. _Never again._ Against his every instinct, Dean let go of the hands wrapped around his neck and instead reached over Diesel's shoulder, gripping the nearest meat hook. He pulled hard, quickly winding the chain under the fang's neck and linking the hook into the highest loop of metal he could reach. Then, as he desperately tried to draw air into this lungs, he remembered the remote in his pocket.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Diesel demanded, letting go of Dean's neck with one hand to swat blindly behind his head in an attempt to free himself.

Dean pressed a button through the fabric of his jacket and the factory suddenly sprang to life. The entirety of the track that was visible in the room began to move counter clockwise with freshly cleaned hooks entering and exiting the room on either side of the bay of conveyer belts.

Once the chain around Diesel's neck took up the slack, the vampire was jerked to the side with no choice but to go along. In his surprise, he let go of Dean.

The boy crumpled to the floor, choking for air and hauling as much of it into this body as possible. _Don't have an asthma attack. Please._ Even as his vision was just starting to return to normal, Dean was up on his feet, stumbling along well out of reach of his abuser.

Diesel was shouting, swearing, pulling at the chain around his neck that was pulling him down the length of the room quickly enough to keep him from gaining reliable footing.

The two locked eyes. Dean's were dark, merciless, those of a trained killer. He learned from some of the best, after all. And for once, Diesel's were full of animalistic fear and crazed disbelief.

The hunter had indeed fallen victim to his prey.

It didn't take long for the occupied hook to reach the point in the track where it rose up about three feet. Diesel's steel toed boots left the concrete and the previously plentiful yelling and vulgar words were silenced, replaced with thrashing and rattling of chain.

Dean pressed a red button on his remote that stopped the track, all the while never looking away from the struggling form before him. "You've told me you killed the man who murdered your mate before her blood was cold. I remember. But you chose to go after my family anyway. Why wasn't the instant revenge enough?" Dean took a few steps forward and regretted it.

Diesel snarled and kicked, swinging his body with enough force to get his feet really moving. One connected with Dean's face, sending him reeling backwards and out of range, stars dancing in his vision. His hand flew to his nose and came away bloody; at least it wasn't broken. He didn't think. Dean's nose had been broken before, but this pain didn't feel like that. So he just pinched his nostrils shut and glared at his attacker. "Hope you enjoyed that. 's the last time you'll hurt me _ever_ again."

With that, Dean charged at the still flailing legs, dangling a few feet off the ground. He pinned them against his shoulder with his 'good' arm and jerked forward, putting added weight on the chain around Diesel's neck. He wasn't sure if this would work, but even if it didn't, it would hurt a hell of a lot. That was enough of a reason to do it.

The strangled sounds and protests were put out of Dean's mind as he focused on tugging harder and harder at Diesel's legs. After a few seconds of exerting monumental effort- which he wasn't sure he could keep up much longer- the desired result was achieved.

A sickening crack, followed by a sucking pop sound and a few more cracks with wet ripping sounds muffling them all, made Dean's stomach turn.

With Diesel's legs still held to his shoulder, Dean fell to the ground, barely catching himself with his bad arm, brace and all, before face-planting. Sharp, angry pain shot up and down his right arm and shoulder, taking his breath away and making him see stars once more.

Diesel fell, almost on top of him; about half of the vampire's weight smashed into Dean's good side, landing heavy and settling a bit before going still.

The dull thud that followed was the end of Dean's ability to control his stomach. He released the legs and scrambled to his knees, half running half crawling about ten feet away before losing the meager contents of his stomach onto the once clean concrete.

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, on his hands and knees over the spreading puddle of vomit, before he was able to breathe and see semi-normally again. Slowly, he stood, his knees feeling weak and unsteady.

Sure enough, as he turned around he saw exactly what he expected to see. Diesel was lying stomach down, motionless, and bleeding under the hook Dean used to hang him. The hook still swung almost happily from the ceiling, even though it was dripping with blood.

The vampire's head was on its left cheek, thankfully facing away from Dean, having landed a few feet from its body after being popped off by the chain and Dean's extra weight.

Ever since the very first time Diesel was allowed by Winthrop to hurt Dean, Dean had been dreaming of the moment he could kill the man. He dreamed of killing Winthrop, too, but Diesel's punishments were far worse than those of their master. Dean would spend his free time thinking up ways to hurt the vampire, imagining the life leaving his eyes, what he would say as his abuser died.

But now, in the moment, there were no words. It was as quiet and simple as turning a page in a book; Dean walked past the body, replaced the remote, found his charm dangerously close to a drain, and left the building.

He just really wanted to see his family.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you didn't panic too bad about the whole character death thing. Like, sure, I almost killed Dean before, but c'mon guys. I'm not that bad... or am I...?**

 **Leave me some words! What do you think so far? What do you anticipate happening soon? Will Winthrop get to Sam and Cas before Dean and John can? Let me know what you think! I love hearing from you all!**

 **See you soon!**


	44. More News from Nowhere

**A/N: Vivi here! Yes, I'm still around. Sorry this is super short and late but it's all I have written and was meant to be a segway, not a chapter. I'm posting it to give you something while I find the time to write the rest. I'll probably post the remainder of what was supposed to be this chapter sometime this week. Hopefully I'll have another for Monday. Again, sorry for the delay. It hasn't even been that busy a week, I just haven't felt like writing. I know, it bums me out, too. Not quite writer's block, but still.**

 **Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this short chapter.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Ever since the very first time Diesel was allowed by Winthrop to hurt Dean, Dean had been dreaming of the moment he could kill the man. He dreamed of killing Winthrop, too, but Diesel's punishments were far worse than those of their master. Dean would spend his free time thinking up ways to hurt the vampire, imagining the life leaving his eyes, what he would say as his abuser died._

 _But now, in the moment, there were no words. It was as quiet and simple as turning a page in a book; Dean walked past the body, replaced the remote, found his charm dangerously close to a drain, and left the building._

 _He just really wanted to see his family._

* * *

Dad and Jeff hadn't moved when Dean got back out to the road.

"Dad?" Panic and fear leapt anew into Dean's chest; he ran as fast as he could once he realized that the dark shape in the grass was his father, still out cold. Hitting the ground hard, Dean's knees protested. He gently shook his father's shoulder for a few seconds, hiccupping once before he managed to speak again. "Dad?"

Nothing. The man lay on his back, motionless. Dean frantically tried to find a pulse and the relief he felt as he found one was palpable in the air. Almost as an afterthought, Dean lifted Dad's head and removed the clump of scrap asphalt from underneath it. "Dad, wake up."

He heard a groan, but it wasn't from Dad.

"Where's the vamp, kid?" Jeff moaned, turning onto his side and sitting up, squinting and trying to focus his eyes in the morning light.

"He- he's gone." Dean said quickly, hiccuping. He didn't want to be lectured about his 'recklessness' until he knew Dad would be okay. "My dad won't wake up."

"It left?" Jeff asked, slowly getting to his feet, using the vehicle for support until he stopped swaying.

"Yeah."

"Don't know if I believe that. But you seem like a trustworthy pup. Pops won't come 'round, then?" Jeff asked as he stumbled to Dean's side, kneeling with him beside John. "Breathin' okay?"

"I think. I- I don't really know what to do. Didn't exactly get a lot of first aid training growing up."

Jeff took a few seconds to do a quick hunter's analysis and came to his own conclusions. "Just a knock to the noggin, bud. Should be fine in a little while."

Dean jumped when Jeff roughly slapped his father across the cheek, eliciting a pained groan from the man. "The hell…" John lifted his hand to hold his face and grimaced for a moment before sitting up stock straight, alarm written all over his features. He looked around frantically, stopping only once he caught sight of his little boy.

"Dad." Dean grinned when his father came around. "It's okay, Dad. Diesel is gone." He said quickly, leaning away from the wild look in his father's eyes as the man simply stared at him.

Dean flinched when John suddenly clapped him on the shoulder, fear and worry still etched in his features. That hand moved to the back of his neck as his father let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes to breathe for a few seconds. "You're okay? What happened to your nose?"

"I'm fine. It just got bonked." Dean nodded, relieved that Dad was talking normally and no longer unconscious. He ran his sleeve under his nose to get rid of the blood he realized was still all over his face from being kicked earlier.

"Thank God." Dad squeezed gently and let go of his son, painstakingly pushing himself up off the ground to stand in the tall grass. "Where did the bastard go? Did you see?"

"Hopefully to Hell." Dean grumbled, standing and wincing as his sore neck protested.

"What was that?" Dad snapped a bit more harshly than he meant to, turning to give his son an expectant glare.

"Nothing. Uh, don't get mad, okay?" He hiccupped as he scratched the back of his neck. _He's gonna be pissed._

"Mad about what? Dean, what did you do? What happened?" Dad looked to Jeff for a second, only to have the man shrug.

"I was in la-la-land before you, John."

Dad turned back to Dean, staring him down and making his skin feel like it was crawling. He could tell Dean felt guilty about something and _so help him_ if he put himself in danger again.

"Promise I won't get in trouble?"

"I can't make that promise. Tell me. Now."

Dean grimaced and felt his face form a childish pout; it was a relatively new feeling. Pouting never worked on Winthrop or Jerold. It worked on John, though, surprisingly enough. Dad, all soldier and hunter and grit to the outside world, had soft spots for his kids, aspects of his fatherly persona that Dean could take advantage of. Asking nicely for things or pouting when he didn't get his way or when he wanted something worked on Dad a lot more often than it had on any other person he'd ever met. He wondered if that was just because Dad was his dad.

He felt a little awkward doing it, because hey, that was something babies did, but if it got him his way, so be it. Dean wasn't above doing anything that worked. So what if it was blatant manipulation? "Please?"

"No. Tell me now, or you're grounded."

"Grounded?" Dean exclaimed. He didn't really know what that meant, but it didn't sound good. Sam didn't seem to like it; in fact, he seemed to hate it. Maybe this would be the straw on the camel's back for Dad. Maybe this- killing Diesel- would be the thing that made him hit Dean, made him punish the unruly teen for breaking rule after rule. Dad would never physically hurt Sammy; Dean knew that much and believed it to be true. But he wasn't Sammy. He was the problem child, the one his father didn't get to raise and train. Dean knew he frustrated the man. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was struck.

"I'm not going to ask again."

"Oh, c'mon." Dean grumbled, kicking at the tall grass with his eyes downcast, trying to figure out how to phrase it so he wouldn't be grounded or beat. "It's just… You guys were in trouble and I couldn't… I couldn't protect you out here, so I…"

"You what?" John growled, feeling his fists clench and his blood pressure start to rise. _Don't say you made a deal. Don't say you did something you'll regret._

"I ran." Dean whispered, unable to look at his father. He felt his face flush bright red and he looked up, suddenly _needing_ to make sure Dad understood something. "I didn't run away from you, though. I mean, I did, but not on purpose. Well, kinda on purpose, but it wasn't to get away from you specifically. I- Diesel was too close and you and Jeff were unconscious and he coulda done anything to you. I ran to that building so he'd chase me and leave you guys alone."

John glanced over Dean's shoulder at the building. He saw the broken window almost immediately. "You went inside? He could've cornered you, Dean. What were you thinking?"

"You were in trouble, Dad. I had to do something to get him away from you. To give you time to wake up and come help me." Dean regretted that last sentence almost immediately. _Hiccup._

John's face fell. _Failed him again._

"But- but I didn't actually need help. He wasn't that hard to kill."

At that, John's jaw dropped open and all sense of self-loathing was forgotten. "You killed the vampire?"

Dean shrugged nervously, wringing his hands. "Yeah."

"Alone?" John glanced to Jeff, who seemed just as surprised as he did.

"Yeah. It- it's a slaughterhouse. I got a chain around his neck and… uh, 'pop goes the weasel'." Dean shrugged again and donned his most innocent, 'don't hurt me' smile.

John closed the distance between he and his son, immediately checking him over for blood that wasn't from his nose, unnatural angles, _anything_ out of place. He'd been that close to a vampire, close enough to get a chain around it's neck. There _had_ to be collateral damage. The kid was just hiding it. "Sure you're okay?"

Dean squirmed a bit as Dad started looking over his head and neck. "I'm fine, really. He strangled me for a couple seconds, that's all. I'm fine. Didn't even have an asthma attack."

"That what these bruises are from?" John gently traced the faint outline of fingers on his son's neck as he inspected the extent of the injury.

Dean halfheartedly batted his father's hand away. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"That all he did?"

"He, um, tossed me around a little." Dean was trying not to lie to the man. Dad knew when he was lying and he didn't want to get into any more trouble as it was. "Knocked the wind outta me."

"How's the arm?"

"I broke a window with my elbow. That hurts. But my bad arm is fine."

"And you're sure the vampire is dead?"

"Unless he can reattach his own head, yes."

John stepped back with a flood of relief in his chest. He grinned at his son. _His son_. His fully intact, grown, hunter of a son. "I'm proud of you, Dean."

Dean, of course, smiled at the praise, soaking it in like a sponge.

"But one more stunt like that and you're grounded until you're thirty. Got it?"

The smile faded, but only a little. _Fair enough._ "Got it."

"Good. Let's go home and fix up that arm of yours."

"I got my pain medicine in my back- oh. Wait." Dean frowned. He realized his backpack was probably still at that nasty trailer; Diesel shoved it under the bed. How could he have forgotten that?

"Your back pack?"

"Yeah."

"Good. It's in the trunk. Why don't you load up before we get moving?" Dad went to the trunk, absently brushing some dirt and dried grass off of his jacket as he walked.

Memories of Diesel's gloating monologue just minutes earlier flooded back into Dean's head as he followed. Ice ran through his veins and he grabbed Dad's arm to stop him. "Dad! Winthrop and Lucy are going to Bobby's house. They figured out where I got in the truck and Diesel said they're already on the road." Dean spoke so quickly he wasn't sure if Dad got it all.

"In the car. Now."

Dad got it, alright. By the time Dean was in the backseat and buckled, his back pack was tossed in next to him and Dad had the car in gear.

Jeff followed behind them, having overheard the conversation. This time, he really was following them. They needed all the help they could get.

* * *

 **A/N: Cliffhanger! Leave me a review.**

 **Also, I'm finally starting to write on Enter the World again. I changed up the plot to get rid of my writer's block. Hopefully that'll be up soon, too, but don't hold your breath.**

 **See you soon!**


	45. Highway to Hell

**A/N: Vivi here! Another short chapter. Sorry, haven't had as much time to write as I thought I would. Ever take an 8 hour test? Yeah, I'm studying for one of those. Yay for me. Ugh.**

 **Hopefully I'll have some real actual writing time this week. Sorry for the tiny chapters.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"In the car. Now."_

 _Dad got it, alright. By the time Dean was in the backseat and buckled, his back pack was tossed in next to him and Dad had the car in gear._

 _Jeff followed behind them, having overheard the conversation. This time, he really was following them. They needed all the help they could get._

* * *

"Try to sleep, kiddo. We're still two hours away." John said as he dialed Bobby's number for the eighth time. He knew before he pressed send that the man wouldn't pick up, but he had to try anyway. Maybe- maybe he was just outside with the boys for the last hour, the last seven calls.

And left his cell phone, normally attached to his hip, inside.

"Can't." Dean mumbled, leaning tiredly on the window in the backseat. He'd taken his medicine and those usually knocked him out, but he was fighting hard. He had to be alert to help Sammy and Cas; if he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake again- fully- for at least five hours. The meds always put him out if he let them.

"Dammit." John tossed the useless phone into the passenger seat when no one picked up the other end. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temples, trying to stave off the headache that was already upon him, getting worse the longer he drove. Getting knocked out always gave him a headache; one of many reasons he tried to avoid it. "Just _try_ to sleep, bud. You're exhausted. I can see it."

"No."

The man sighed, glancing down at his speedometer to find he was only going fifteen over the speed limit on the spacious highway. He pressed his foot down a little more. "Don't talk back to me. You're starting to sound like Sam. Why won't you sleep, bud? Is it about what happened?" John's patience was more than a little thin at that point but his concern for his kids usually won out even in situations like these. Even if one was being annoyingly ornery.

"No, Diesel got what was coming to him."

"I meant what happened to _you_ , son."

"Oh. No, I've been through a lot worse."

 _Great. That's comforting._ John huffed and glanced in the rearview mirror at the boy, a perfect combination of himself and his beautiful mother, who was staring worriedly out the window, biting his nails. The scene tugged at the father's heart. He wanted his boys to be safe and carefree but continued to nearly get them killed. _Father of the year._ _It'll be over soon, son._ "What is it, then?"

Dean hesitated. "Dad… you know what Winthrop wants, right? You know his plan?"

"I do."

"Tell me. So I know you know."

John looked up again to see doubt and challenge in the boy's eyes, muffled by the blur of the rearview mirror. "I have a feeling you have more details than I do. Am I right?"

The challenge was gone, replaced by barely concealed, surprised nervousness. Dean looked down at his hands, now wringing in his lap, fiddling with the charm he'd taken off to ease his sore neck. "Maybe."

"Tell me what you know, then."

"I don't…"

"Dean, Sam's life could depend on it. And you brought it up. So out with it."

"Okay, okay." Dean sighed and bit his lip, refusing to look up. "He wants revenge."

"Old news."

"On you."

"Of course. I killed his mate. Didn't know it at the time, but I found out a couple years after you went missing. Cornered- and ended- a couple of his followers just over the Kansas-Colorado border."

"When was that?"

"Summer of '88."

"I was with the Ross' by then."

"Yeah. I know that _now_. None of the fangs I found would tell me anything about you; they would deny even knowing you existed most of the time. Especially after a few years."

"Makes sense. He called me Win. Wouldn't let anyone else know my real name."

John looked at his son in the rearview mirror, his curiosity piqued. "Why?"

"You were looking for me. He knew you had friends. So he named me after himself and branded me and hid me away." Dean shrugged. "He just wanted me for revenge. Needed Sam, though, to go through with his plan." A healthy grin spread on Dean's slightly blood-stained face. "And you kept him safe."

"Winthrop named you after himself? He didn't just shorten 'Winchester'? That's what I thought when you told me about what happened- that he just shortened our name." John watched a few emotions cross Dean's face. Confusion, surprise, worry, fear, panic, realization.

 _Could it really have been that close all along? My real name?_ "I- I don't know. I just always thought-"

"You forgot your name, Dean. You don't have to worry over the label some stinking vampire gave you. Doesn't matter anyway. You're here, with me, and pretty soon that fang won't be more than a pile of smoldering ashes in a trash heap."

Dean just stared off into space for a few seconds before whispering. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Keep talkin', kid. The fang wants revenge because I killed his wife…"

"Right. Yeah, so, uh…" Dean shook his head to clear it. _The past is the past. Come on, get with it._ "So Winthrop needs Sam to finish his plan. He used to tell me all the time how happy you would be to see me and Sammy together again. I used to get so excited, until I grew up a little. Winthrop wants to get me and Sam and then you into the same room so he can kill us slow in front of you. Then he'll kill you."

"Sounds about right." John said bitterly. _He was so close. So close to his big finale._

"And he's gonna do it 'where it all started'. I never knew what he meant, though."

"Where what all started?"

"His obsession with killing you, maybe?"

"Plainfield." John realized suddenly.

"Huh?"

"He wants all this to go down in Plainfield, Wyoming, where I killed his mate and he took you. I'm not going to let that happen, though. He's not going to get anywhere near Plainfield, not if I catch him first. And you're gonna be just fine, Dean. I'll leave you with Jeff and go get Sam and Castiel from Bobby's house since that old crust isn't picking up." He glanced in the rearview mirror once again, this time taking in the familiar car that had been keeping pace with him since he left the slaughterhouse. "They'll be okay, too, if I can do anything about it."

"You can't just ditch me! I need to help Sam. And what if they're not even at Bobby's anymore? You said it yourself: Bobby's not answering his phone. They're probably gone. They're probably already halfway to Plainfield."

"I'll find them, either way. Winthrop's not going to kill Sam until I get there, right? He wants me to watch, doesn't he?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"And I'll try my damnedest to find Cas before anything happens to him."

"Winthrop won't kill Cas. He thinks he's your son, too."

Confused, John looked over his shoulder for a brief second. "What?"

"Sam convinced him that Cas was his brother when they got kidnapped from the house in Temple. Saved his life." Dean smiled proudly. "I think he'd still believe it. I mean, Cas is the right age."

"No, he's not. He's between you and Sam. I never cheated on your mother and I don't have any other kids, Dean. I didn't exactly settle down again."

"I'm just saying it's a believable situation, okay? I know you loved Mom."

"I still love her." John said quietly with a deep sigh, taking in the tired dinosaur eyes in the backseat before returning his own eyes to the road. "Okay, enough talk. You need to sleep. I'm not asking again."

"But Dad-"

"Do you _want_ to be grounded?"

"No, sir."

"Rest, Dean."

"…Yes, sir."

* * *

"Don't think the meds are strong enough for that." Jeff said. He had parked his SUV beside the Impala in the parking lot of a motel just off the highway, about an hour from Sioux Falls. Knees stiff from the drive, he stood near the trunk of John's car, watching as the father gingerly lifted his sleeping- and nearly adult- son from the backseat.

"Quiet." John hissed, face getting red from the exertion of carrying his baby boy into the motel room he rented for a night. Once Dean was laid on a bed, still sound asleep, John paused. "I'm sorry, son. But I need you to be safe and I- I can't give that to you just yet." He knelt beside the bed and carded a hand through his son's hair, smiling when the kid leaned into the touch. "I'll be back. I promise. You're my little trooper."

Dean mumbled something in his sleep and slurred a soft 'oorah' before going silent again.

"That's right. Oorah." John sighed and stood, pulling the comforter off the other bed to keep Dean warm.

He left the room and closed the door, taking an immense effort to not look back. He went to stand before Jeff, near his car. "Watch him. Don't let him leave, don't leave him alone, don't let him out of your sight. Try to keep him calm but if you have to, tie him down. I can't have him coming into this. It's too dangerous."

"You sure you want _me_ to watch your son? I don't exactly have a great track record with the boy."

John stared Jeff down and frowned. "You're the only choice I have right now and you're a hell of a lot safer than any other alternative."

"Aww, you're makin' me blush." Jeff said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Listen, if you mess up again and he gets hurt because of you, I'll kill you. Understood? I'll find you, and I'll end you."

"John, you don't have to threaten me. I'll watch your kid and keep him out of trouble. Might move us motels, though, play keep away from the vampires. Depends how long you're gone."

"I'm not sure how long it'll take."

"I got my phone on me, and you have the number from when I called earlier."

"Almost woke him up, by the way. Coulda screwed up my plan." John said.

"But I didn't, and aren't you glad I called?" A shit-eating grin spread on Jeff's face; that call was when John reluctantly asked him to watch the boy while he ran off to save the day.

"Shut up. Just don't lost him again."

"I'll do my best, John."

"Thanks." John clapped the man on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door, not leaving until Jeff was inside with Dean. As soon as he was out of sight, John rubbed at his face and ran his hand through his hair, anxiety and fear running through him faster than he could drive down the road. _He's gonna hate me for this._

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, John pulled up outside Singer Auto Salvage.

The side door was kicked in.

It only took him thirty seconds to find Bobby.

The hunter was slumped against the wall in the hallway, on the floor, his head bleeding, and a small, coagulated pool of blood beneath him.

"Bobby?" John knelt beside the unmoving figure, dread already thick in his chest. He not-so-gently shook the man's shoulder. "Bobby, come on."

At least he was breathing and had a strong pulse. John left him for about two minutes to scan the rest of the house. Signs of a struggle were everywhere; books strewn all over the ground, blood smeared on some of the walls, a broken table, a few large dents in the drywall in several rooms… It was hard to accept that they were gone. Sam and Cas were in the wind again and John took a moment to add a few more dents to the walls before returning to Bobby; he figured something had happened when Bobby wouldn't answer his phone, so he was prepared for the worst. "Wake up, man."

There was no response.

"I don't have time for this." John laid Bobby on the ground in a more comfortable position and pulled his phone out. He dialed 911 and told them the address, and that there was a fight and a man was unresponsive. He hung up, made sure nothing suspicious was sitting out in the open, left the door unlocked, and got back in his car.

 _I know where you are, Winthrop, and if you touch one hair on his head I'll rip your lungs out._

* * *

Jeff was having a very nice dream concerning waffles. He'd decided to catch a few winks while Dean was sound alseep; he wasn't sure when he would get another chance. Undoubtedly, Dean would be upset when he awoke and unwilling to sleep again until he and his family were reunited. Jeff figured he probably had a couple hours until the medicine wore off and he had to actually watch the kid, keep him from doing something stupid. The hunter was more than happy to spend some time in dreamland with the imaginary waffles. His favorite kind, too: blueberry.

But not long after he laid down something jabbed at his ribs, pulling him from sleep.

"Wake up."

Jeff's eyes flashed open, quickly taking in the angry face, the sling, and the barrel of a shotgun pointed at his head. _Aww, hell._ "What's goin' on?"

"Where is my father?"

"Dean? What are you doing?"

"Answer the question."

"Why are you up?"

"Truck went by. Rattled the windows. Woke me up. Where is Dad?"

"He went to get Sam." Jeff said slowly, trying to get a read on the young man before him. Would he shoot if Jeff tried to take the gun? Or was he just bluffing?

"Without me?" Dean didn't sound happy. He sounded the opposite of happy, actually.

"It's too dangerous, kid. I don't think you understand-"

Dean moved forward and sent every hair on Jeff's body on end as he pressed the barrel of the gun to the side of the older man's head. "I don't think you understand what you agreed to. He told you to watch me, didn't he?"

Jeff simply nodded, holding perfectly still. The mannerisms and tone that the Winchester boy used spoke to the fact that he had killed before. Monster or man, Jeff didn't know. Frankly, he didn't want to find out. _My fault either way._

"Where are your car keys?"

"What? You don't need those-"

Dean pushed harder on the gun, making Jeff swallow involuntarily. "I really think I do."

Jeff pointed to the small table near the door, where the keys sat under his jacket. Dean nodded and kept the gun trained on him the whole way to the table. "Now, Dean, let's talk about this. John's just trying to keep you out of trouble-"

Dean grabbed the keys, threw open the door, slammed it behind him, and ran to Jeff's vehicle with Jeff hot on his heels, the man leaving a string of profanities in his wake.

Jeff didn't make it in time. The car was already burning rubber, flying out of the parking lot by the time he got his stiff, aching body up and out the door. "Dammit, Dean." He ran back into the room to call John, only to find that his cell phone was gone. " _Dammit, Dean._ "

It had been a long time since Jeff hotwired a car, but after a few minutes of struggling with an old Ford, he was on the road, determined to protect the kid he failed twelve years ago. Even if the kid didn't want to be protected.

* * *

"Where the hell is this kid going?" Jeff mumbled to himself as he used one hand to steer the car and the other to clumsily open a wrinkled atlas he found in the center console. He struggled for a few minutes to find where they were, but that didn't help at all. Dean was going West. Directly West. John had gone to South Dakota, which was North West from where the motel was; they needed to be on a completely different highway. Surely Dean knew John was going to go to Bobby's house. That's where Sam was, right? So why was Dean going West?

Jeff followed anyway, staying as close as he could to _his_ car so that when Dean had to stop for gas or whatever, he would be there. He fully intended to take the kid down, even if there were civilians around. Trouble was, he had _just_ filled his car with fuel; Dean wouldn't have to stop for a few hours yet.

 _John's gonna kill me._ As if the man didn't have reason enough already.

"Dammit, Dean." Jeff grumbled, tossing the atlas over his shoulder.

* * *

 **A/N: It's short. I'm sorry. Leave me a review for motivation. See you soon.**


	46. Hot Blooded

**A/N: Vivi here! It's late, it's not long, it's... the next chapter! We're almost to the big ending now, so hold on tight!**

 **Previous warnings apply. Also, this is a pretty violent chapter and has some hints of rape in it.**

 **As usual, this hasn't been heavily edited, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors.**

 **Enjoy, and don't forget to leave me a review! There haven't been many lately and it has me wondering if I'm losing readers...**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _"Where the hell is this kid going?" Jeff mumbled to himself as he used one hand to steer the car and the other to clumsily open a wrinkled atlas he found in the center console. He struggled for a few minutes to find where they were, but that didn't help at all. Dean was going West. Directly West. John had gone to South Dakota, which was North West from where the motel was; they needed to be on a completely different highway. Surely Dean knew John was going to go to Bobby's house. That's where Sam was, right? So why was Dean going West?_

 _Jeff followed anyway, staying as close as he could to his car so that when Dean had to stop for gas or whatever, he would be there. He fully intended to take the kid down, even if there were civilians around. Trouble was, he had_ just _filled his car with fuel; Dean wouldn't have to stop for a few hours yet._

John's gonna kill me. _As if the man didn't have reason enough already._

 _"Dammit, Dean." Jeff grumbled, tossing the atlas over his shoulder._

* * *

"You okay?"

"No."

"Broken bones?"

"I… I don't think so."

"I'm sure Dad's coming. Bobby musta called him by now."

Cas was silent.

"Is your nose still bleeding?"

"Yes."

"It's gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay." Sam spoke softly and bit his lip, trying to keep himself from panicking. It was killing him that he was shoved between the wall and the farthest of the motel beds, unable to see what the occupants of the room were up to. He was tied back to back with Castiel, who was also lodged between the bed and the wall, but Cas was taller and closer to the foot of the bed; he could see over and around it. But he was being very quiet. Moreso than he had been since Sam met him.

 _Should never have asked him to help me with that stupid essay._ Sam mentally kicked himself the hundredth time for dragging Cas into their nightmare of a life. He hadn't even been able to give Cas enough time to escape when Winthrop walked into Bobby's living room dragging the old hunter by the collar, having already beat the snot out of him so quickly and quietly that the boys hadn't noticed. The fang dropped the hunter in the hall and charged, giving Sam another black eye before doing the same to Cas and possibly breaking Cas' nose. He tied both of them up like hogs. Sam had never felt so helpless.

"Is your neck still bleeding?"

"No." Cas said, barely able to stay awake through the blood loss and exhaustion that now consumed most of his attention. Fear was just a nagging ache in the back of his mind at that point, struggling to come up with an escape plan that would never work out. Who was he kidding? He only _just_ learned that vampires were real. How could he expect to outwit, overpower, and escape one while helping Sam get out, too, through his seizures? He'd already missed a dose of medicine. No doubt the seizures would start up as soon as they made a break for it.

Thank goodness John sat Dean and Cas down the first week at Bobby's house and made sure they understood Sam's condition. Dean had so many questions; Cas had almost as many. Still, even having a thorough understanding of absence seizures and epilepsy, Cas didn't know how to get Sam to safety all by himself.

 _Could just… I mean, I could just leave Sam… No. No way, I can't do that. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. But I'd be alive… and alone. No. Sam's coming or I'm not going. He and his family have done too much for me; I can't abandon him like that. So we're getting out of here. One way or another…_

Cas leaned to his left and rested his shoulder against the soft bed, peering discreetly over the top of it without drawing too much attention to himself. His black eye was nearly swollen shut- courtesy of Winthrop- making his other eye do most of the seeing, despite the slight hypovolemic blur he had going.

Lucy was watching some kind of television show, sitting on the bed nearest the door with her legs crossed in front of her. She looked bored, staring forward with no emotion on her face. Cas wondered why _she_ hadn't tried to escape; he'd seen the fang punctures on her neck, too. She seemed to be just a bit less of a prisoner than they were, but there she was, sitting calmly with the vampire seated at the table next to the television, quietly reading some kind of book.

Cas looked down when he saw the man move.

His hair stood on end when he heard the chair brush softly across the floor.

"Tired of waiting, little one?"

Even the vampire's voice sent chill down Cas' back. He shook his head violently and continued to stare at the ugly, thin, filthy, green carpet beneath him. Much to his chagrin, his stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly; Cas visibly flinched and ducked his head, anticipating a blow to the head. It didn't come.

"Well I am. It's been six hours since we reunited. I left that old hunter alive just so he could contact your father and send him our way. I mean, why track the man down when I could just have him deliver himself right to my doorstep, hmm? And once he arrives, I'll just need to get Win, and we can all get on with our lives. Well, so to speak." Winthrop grinned devilishly and nudged at Cas' foot with his own. "Why don't we give dear ol' Dad a ring?"

Winthrop walked across the room back to the table and pulled a battered cell phone from a plastic bag. Sam recognized it instantly as his own.

 _He's gonna call Dad? Is… is this a good thing?_

The vampire opened the phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found what he was looking for. But he scrolled too far and found something even better. Another threatening grin spread across his cheeks. "Or shall we call dear ol' Dean?"

 _That's not a good thing!_ "That's an old number, Dean's phone got busted." Sam said too quickly, reveal the anxiety that was flooding his mind. If Dean got a call from Sam's phone, from _Winthrop,_ he'd come, as long as Winthrop gave him an address. Sam was sure. And if Dean came, he wouldn't leave. Not this time.

Winthrop's smile didn't wane in the slightest. "Why don't we try it anyway?"

"He won't answer."

The number was dialed and Winthrop held the phone up to his ear, pacing the room lazily while he waited.

Someone picked up on the third ring.

"Win, my boy, I have fantastic news."

There was silence on the other end.

Winthrop wasn't fazed in the slightest. "Your brothers are here with me and are just _dying_ for you to join them."

"Where are you, you blood-sucking sonofabitch?"

A slightly surprised grin spread on the vampire's face. "John Winchester. Is that you?"

"Where are my sons?" John asked, barely concealed fury in his tone. At the last second, he remembered to say 'sons' instead of 'son'; one slip up could cost Castiel his life and it unnerved the father that the kid was even still in danger. _He's got no one else to look after him. It's just me now. Shit._

A lot of things had been running through John's head during the hours he'd been driving. Bobby's condition, Dean's safety, what was happening to his son, if the boys were okay, Cas' family situation, the poor kid's mental health… Cas' future. John knew he couldn't abandon the child; Cas was only sixteen and it was obvious that he hadn't been thriving recently. He was thin, nervous, jumpy, exhausted. Then again, John wasn't sure how much of that was his previous living situation versus the recent supernatural turn his life took. Part of John wanted to keep him nearby, in the same town at least, to keep an eye on him and support him when he needed help. But a bigger part wanted to keep the kid close, as in same-house close. He wasn't sure how Castiel would react to that. He wasn't ready to bring it up yet anyway.

John had been surprised when Dean's backpack, which was accidentally left in the Impala when John dropped his son off with Jeff, started ringing, but he never could have imagined who would be on the other end when he picked up. The father decided he didn't have time to figure out how and why the vampire had Dean's new phone number; all that mattered now was finding his lost kids and beheading one creature of the night.

John still didn't know what he was going to do to the woman. He couldn't kill Lucy; she was human. He couldn't sue her or press charges; John himself was on the bad side of the law and while he didn't have any warrants, he didn't want him and his sons to be in any kind of public spotlight in the near future. He'd figure something out after the boys were safe.

The grin didn't fade from Winthrop's face as he strolled across the floor to stand in front of Cas. "Oh, they're here with me in the very same room where you abandoned them all those years ago. I'll prove it. Tell your father to come save you, boys." Winthrop held the phone in front of Cas and waited.

Cas hesitated, unsure of the best course of action to take. He didn't want to get hit again, but he wasn't sure how to avoid it. Say the wrong thing, be struck. Say nothing, be struck.

Sam refused to talk, unwilling to bend to the fang's will.

Winthrop kicked Cas' shin, tearing flesh and eliciting a frightened yelp and a low groan as the boy tried to squirm as far away as possible. He ended up pressing Sam deeper into the crevice, closer to the back wall.

Sam struggled to see over his shoulder. "Stop hurting him! Leave him alone!" He shouted, fear and anger clear in his tone. Adrenaline shot through his veins but there was nothing he could do and he knew it. He needed Dad.

Winthrop took the phone back, pressing it once again to his ear. "They needed you, John. And you let them down again. How does that feel?"

"Like you give a rat's ass."

"Oh, but I do. Your suffering means a great deal to me, Winchester. Has that not occurred to you yet?" Winthrop reached over Cas' head, ignoring the panicked gasp and flinch from the black haired boy, and grabbed a handful of Sam's hair before pulling hard. Sam, surprised, cried out.

"Stop!" John shouted through the phone loud enough for Sam to hear. "I'm already on my way. Just- just leave them alone until I get there, alright? Do what you want to me but leave them out of it."

"Now how much fun would that be?" Winthrop said lowly, releasing Sam and backing away to admire the shaking mess he'd created. "Now, a word of warning, John: come alone or your sons will be dead before you and your goons cross the thresho-"

A loud crash caused all four occupants of the room to flinch and direct their attention to the only door in or out of their little, intimate space.

A small piece of wood bounced off the bed and into Sam's lap. Sam desperately wanted to know what was going on but could see nothing over the tall bed. Cas refused to look up, choosing instead to make himself as small as possible behind the mattress in hopes of surviving until whatever was happening was over.

"Win, how nice of you to join us." Winthrop said with something like poison in his tone.

"Oh shit." That voice was female; Sam heard the springs of the far bed protest loudly before hurried footsteps made their way to the back of the room, past where the boys sat.

"Where are they?"

"Dean?" Sam called out, surprised to hear his brother's voice.

Cas, too, was startled by Dean's sudden appearance. He sat up straight and looked to the door.

There stood Dean, silhouetted against the midday sun streaming through the busted in doorway, one arm still in a bulky brace- useless for a few more weeks, like it or not- and the other wielding a long, shining machete. He looked like an action hero.

"Guess who's here now, John? I'd hurry if I were you." Winthrop said slowly, his grin spreading before he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the closest bed. His deadly eyes never left Dean. "Shouldn't you be with your father?"

Dean was silent, unmoving, fixated on Winthrop as the vampire sauntered closer. _Keep comin'. Just a little further…_

"I'm glad that rebel spirit of yours is still around. How else would I have gotten you here? Then again, had it been crushed when I wanted it to be, you would have been at my side right up to this moment like a well-trained pup. My own delicious, deadly lure."

Dean said nothing.

"You always were the strong silent type. Now that you're here, why don't you join your brothers? Get some quality bonding in before I take everything you love away."

The instant Winthrop was within striking distance, Dean swung the machete, sinking it into the vampire's side. He was ripping it out and pulling his arm back for another blow within one second. Winthrop, caught off guard by the violent action, growled at the pain and caught Dean's arm before he could go again.

Dean cried out when Winthrop clamped down on his wrist, squeezing too tight. His hand was bright red before he was forced to drop the machete. The vampire kicked the blade away from them before Dean could dive for it. He threw Dean to the ground, seeing red at the act of defiance.

Winthrop reared back and sunk one foot into Dean's tender belly as he tried to get up, feeling satisfaction at the short scream and following whimpers as the boy curled in on himself, trying to protect the area and no longer fighting back.

"Never forget, boy, I know all your weak spots." Winthrop took off his belt as he moved to straddle Dean. He ripped the straps of the brace until he managed to pull Dean's bad arm loose; the young man could barely protest the assault. Then, Dean was rolled roughly onto his stomach, seeing black spots as fiery bolts of electricity shot up his damaged appendage. Winthrop tugged his hands behind his back and bound them firmly with the belt. He left Dean there on the floor, kicking his bad hip for good measure on his way to the bathroom. "Watch them."

Dean was mildly surprised and very pleased that he didn't lose consciousness.

"Yes, sir." Lucy said quickly and quietly. Winthrop disappeared into the bathroom, his side already bleeding through his clothes.

"Dean?" Sam called nervously, craning his neck to no avail. "Dean, are you okay?"

"'m okay, Sammy. You and Cas good?"

"No." Cas hissed, glaring at Lucy as she walked past.

"We'll survive." Sam corrected with a frustrated nudge of his shoulder against Cas' shoulder blade. The movement caused Cas' hand to shift and pain erupted when it hit something under the bed.

 _Ouch!_ Cas drew away, but then had a thought. _What if that's…_ Very gingerly, he probed around with his fingers until he found the thing that had cut him: Dean's machete. Winthrop had kicked it under the bed. It came to rest just a few inches from the boys. _Can't say anything or he'll hear._ Instead of telling Sam, Cas just watched Lucy cross the room to hide the fact that he now had the sharp blade in his hands and was trying to cut his bonds as quietly as possible. _Here's our big escape plan…_

"Shut up, you three. You really thought he could just bust in here and take him out like that?" Lucy started to speak once she came to stand just to the side of Dean's head.

Dean didn't respond.

She crossed her arms. "If he can overpower me, he can smother you, ya little shit. Not even worth fightin' back. You and your pathetic little family are done for. Even if your daddy comes, there's no way he'll kill Winthrop, not in a million years. He wasn't strong enough to protect you or find you then and he won't be now. Best to just do as the vampire says and live that much longer." Lucy nudged at Dean's torn brace, still limply attached to his torso, with her foot. "As if you could ever save us."

"Not you." Dean muttered bitterly into the carpet, in too much pain to move or retaliate. "I'd never save you. You won't leave this room alive."

Lucy chuckled. "Oh, you hurt my feelings. See my tears?" Her voice changed from bitterly humorous to low and threatening. "Like hell I will. You think I actually wanted to see you _ever_ again? Ross, I wanted nothing to do with you once you ran off into the night. I hated you, remember? I was glad you were gone. But then some hunter called me up about you and before I had a chance to call 'im back, that _thing_ was on my doorstep, all threats and no compromises. I had to help him find you or he woulda killed me on the spot. And I like bein' alive. Don't you?"

"I do now." Dean said, turning his head to try and locate Sam and Cas. He was satisfied when he saw a sneaker move under the bed.

"Well, that's too bad, because as soon as you and your people are gone, I'm free. Gotta watch out for number one, y'know?" Lucy hooked her foot under Dean's hip and rolled him over onto his back, luckily avoiding his bad shoulder for the time being. "There was one thing I missed about you though, boy." With one quick glance at the bathroom door, Lucy straddled Dean and lowered down to sit on his aching pelvis. "Jerry never got so hard."

"Get off of me." Dean grunted desperately as she started running her hands over his chest. No matter how hard he tried to roll or buck or wriggle his way out, she didn't budge.

"I wonder if your brothers are the same way?" Lucy said with an evil curiosity on her face.

Dean tried to roll once more, but when that didn't work he looked over to where he knew Cas and Sam were tied. He could see Cas pretty well, well enough to tell that the kid was terrified. "If you touch them, you'll die." Dean warned.

"You can't do a single thing to me, Ross. Look at you, hog-tied. If that vampire took a walk, we could have bundles of fun but it's just not meant to be, now is it?" Lucy asked, looking at Dean as if he were a meal. She wasn't even a vampire but the look still made Dean's skin crawl.

"Get off."

"You're not enjoying this? Here, let me fix that." Dean gasped and tried not to whimper as long fingers trailed down his chest and belly before inching their way under the waist of his jeans.

"Stop, please." Dean's voice was soft, fearful. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop her. He knew the pain would be coming soon. And just like that, Dean closed his eyes, almost giving up. _Just leave Sammy and Cas alone. Just…_

The next moment he heard the bathroom door open, a low growl, pounding footsteps, a loud _crack,_ and the weight of the housewife from Washington was gone. A dull thump followed.

Dean opened his eyes and nearly threw up.

Lucy lay beside him, her leg still over his thighs.

Half of her skull was smashed in. The other half, and it's blood and brains, seemed to be strewn across the closest wall.

The back of Winthrop's hand was dripping blood and he did not look pleased in the slightest.

"He is _mine._ "

Winthrop _still_ didn't like his possessions being touched without his permission.

 _Dad, please hurry._

* * *

 **A _/_ N: Yes, John, please hurry! **

**What did you think? How do you think I'll wrap the story up? Who will die? Who will live? Will John get there in time? So many questions...**

 **I can promise you that at least two characters will bite the dust before the story ends... Who do you think it'll be?**


	47. Battery

**A/N: Vivi here! It's finally longer! It's finally got some action! It's... two days late. Oops. Sorry!**

 **I've been muddling through some personal stuff recently, so please forgive my absence and poor posting adherence. Just a few more chapters now...**

 **Previous warnings apply. Lots of violence in this chapter, folks.**

 **Thank you to all of you who have been reviewing my work! I take great joy in all your comments and I'm honored that you give so much of your time to reading what I write! You folks are the best!**

 **So without further ado, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _The back of Winthrop's hand was dripping blood and he did not look pleased in the slightest._

 _"He is_ mine."

 _Winthrop_ still _didn't like his possessions being touched without his permission._

Dad, please hurry.

* * *

"Win, how nice of you to join us."

John's heart stopped at the words that left the vampire's mouth.

 _No no no. It can't be. He's just messing with me. Dean is with Jeff, safe, hours away from that bastard. He only has Sammy and Castiel…_

"Oh shit." A soft, feminine voice sounded quietly from somewhere on the other side of the phone.

 _That bitch is there, too? Oh please, Dean, don't tell me you pulled a stunt like this. You're gonna be so grounded if-_ when _I get you boys out of this._

"Where are they?" John growled, squeezing the phone so hard his knuckles went white. His whole arm was shaking at that point, a whirlpool of fear and fury blocking out every other emotion his mind may have been trying to generate.

"Dean?"

 _Sam, don't be a hero, please, I can't lose both of you._

"Guess who's here now, John? I'd hurry if I were you." Winthrop said slowly, dangerous intent in his tone.

"Don't touch them!" John shouted.

There was only silent on the other end. He'd been hung up on.

"Dammit!" He threw the phone onto the seat beside him and pounded on the steering wheel, trying to calm down and figure out what he was going to do.

He had about an hour to think it over before he would arrive in Plainfield, Wyoming. Before he would roll into the town that had been the hardest for him to leave.

* * *

"Dammit, Dean." Jeff breathed, trying to watch both sides of the road at the same time. He'd lost Dean when he had to stop for gas- the gauge was way past empty when he finally pulled off the road- but the kid was on a main highway; there weren't many places he could've gone in the time Jeff stopped. Speeding like a maniac, Jeff hadn't been able to find Dean on the highway where he should've been based on how fast he had been going before.

The kid must've gotten off the highway in the time Jeff lost sight of him.

"What the hell is so important in Wyoming?" Jeff wondered aloud as he got back on the highway to go check the next exit.

He found his answer just a few minutes later when the sign came into view. _Welcome to Plainfield, Wyoming! A great community to grow with!_

"No. What on earth…?" Jeff merged into the exit lane almost automatically. Dean was here. He knew it. "Why would you come back here, kid?"

Main street was just a few minutes drive from the highway, so Jeff started there. He had his eyes peeled for his car but he figured the kid might have left the car already; he would've had time to hotwire another ride and lose Jeff much more effectively.

It was a long time before Jeff gave up and started heading back for the highway. He decided to take a different road there, just to cover a bit more ground before leaving Plainfield and going to the next exit on the highway.

 _Guess I was wrong about you coming back, Dean-o. Who in the hell would want to come back to the scene of the crime, anyways?_

The cars behind him honked their horns and slammed on their brakes when Jeff's brake lights lit up, his tires locking as he ground to a stop in front of a rundown motel.

"Winthrop." Jeff muttered, ignoring the angry car horns from behind him as he pulled into the parking lot. _That's the same van the fang had last time I got intel on him. Has to be._ The van matched the description given to Jeff by a fellow hunter just over a year ago. The guy thought it was a lone vampire and therefore, who better to call than one of the best vampire hunters in the nation?

Needless to say, Jeff hadn't been able to find the van up until that point. That was the hard thing about smart monsters: if they stay in one place too long, they get ganked, so the clever ones stay mobile. Winthrop wasn't the only vampire Jeff knew of who was living out of a van. He was, however, the only one Jeff was actively hunting.

 _Maybe I can get to him before he gets to Dean. Give me more time to find the kid and get him back to his daddy for safekeeping._

"Time of reckoning, I reckon." Jeff parked on the other end of the parking lot and looked around briefly before exiting his vehicle. No security cameras, no witnesses, no vampires in sight. He was sure the cameras on the house across the road couldn't read his plates or face. "Dean can wait a few minutes."

As he walked casually down the sidewalk, the machete attached to his belt itching for action, he noticed a very familiar car and license plate. _That's my goddamn car, Dean, goddammit. Are you for real right now? What the hell did you get yourself into now? Where the fuck is your father? Didn't he teach you 'safety in numbers'? You got some kinda death wish or somethin'? You drove yourself_ right to his doorstep _, you reckless little punk. I outta…_

 _Your daddy's gonna kill me._

"Shit." Jeff breathed, running one hand through his hair. If Winthrop had Dean, Jeff would need to ambush quickly and efficiently to get the kid out of danger before the vampire did something irreversible.

 _What if he has more than just Dean? I can't save the kid_ and _a bunch of civilians without backup._ Jeff patted his pockets only to remember that Dean had stolen his only phone. A quick search of his car revealed a gross lack of phone, which meant Dean disposed of it somewhere already. _Great. Can't call for backup._

 _But the kid is in there._

Jeff's blood pressure spiked as he heard a pained howl from inside the motel room nearest the van. It wasn't Dean, he didn't think, but it sounded young.

"Stop it-" The words were cut short by a sharp slapping sound.

 _Okay,_ that _was John's boy._ Silently, Jeff approached the window just to the left of the door, trying to see if there was a break in the curtains he could see through so he would know at least _something_ about the situation before going on.

The curtains were perfectly sealed.

Jeff's heart was pounding by the time he heard the first aching sob come through the window. _Goddammit, Dean._ He pulled his machete out and took a few deep breaths as he stood just outside the door, getting ready to kick it in and hopefully kill a vampire. _Here we go. Get in, assess the situation, kill the creep, save the kids. Easy, right? Nothin' I ain't done before. Okay, okay… Here we go._

He waited until it was quiet in the room- only a few seconds time- before rearing back and kicking the flimsy, locked door in.

In a split second, Jeff assessed the scene before him.

In the center of the room lay Dean, ankles tied, arms tied behind his back, no doubt torqueing his shoulder into a torturous position. The shoulder brace was still attached, but torn, hanging awkwardly at his side, bunching up his jacket. His face was bright red, tears in his eyes, blood leaked from his mouth and nose, and he was curled in on himself like he was trying to protect his belly. It seemed like the kid was having trouble breathing; each attempt to draw air in seemed labored to say the least.

Winthrop stood over the teen, his foot dangerously close to where Dean had his knees pulled up to his chest. Jeff and the fang made eye contact and Winthrop's fists curled, anger seeping onto his face.

There were two others in the room, both teenage boys by the look of them. They were stuffed behind a bed. Jeff couldn't see the far one very well, but he didn't seem badly hurt. The closer one, though, was tied up like Dean, bleeding from the mouth, shaking like a leaf, and gushing blood from his shin. He even had a small puddle beneath him already. Both Dean and the nearest boy had punctures on their necks; no wonder they were so pale. The boy looked to Jeff with fear in his eyes before returning his gaze to Dean's now still and quiet form.

 _Not good. Three hostages, one target, one me. Shoulda found a phone to call for backup first._

"Are you John Winchester?" Winthrop left Dean's side and strolled toward Jeff, who remained frozen in place, struggling to figure out the best way to 'save the day'. "Because you smell familiar, but nothing like the Winchester children. Like father like son applies to scent, you know."

The deadly tone of the vampire's voice caused sweat to break out on Jeff's palms and forehead. He wasn't prepared. He didn't like not being prepared.

"I know you. But from where…" Winthrop paused at the foot of the bed nearest the door and tapped his forefinger on his chin a few times. "My memory of your scent is linked to theirs. That can mean only one thing." A devilish grin spread on his face, revealing glistening, sharp fangs that sent ice through Jeff's veins. "Jefferson Freedman. John Winchester's partner in murdering my wife."

Jeff hadn't been ready for what happened next. He barely got a mediocre swing in as the vampire charged forth and grabbed for his neck. Jeff ducked just in time, but Winthrop sent his knee into Jeff's stomach instead, hurling the man into the wall behind him.

Winthrop slammed the battered door shut and growled at the blow he'd taken; Jeff managed to hit the same place on the fang's arm that Dean had earlier. The gash was down to bone now; if there weren't darkened blood lazily sludging from the cut, pretty cream colored bone would be on display. "You'll regret that."

"Doubt it." Jeff was on his feet again, already holding the machete over his head. This time, he brought it down at the base of the vampire's neck. He cursed when he felt it bounce off of bone- a clavicle, he thought- instead of severing half the soft tissue of Winthrop's neck. Moving targets were never easy to hit but this one was a real bitch.

Winthrop stumbled back a few steps. He stumbled right into Dean. With one big step, he moved behind Dean, effectively putting the near-unconscious teen in the middle of the fight on purpose. "You're here to save them, aren't you? Still working with John, I presume?"

"This is between you and us, not them. Let 'em go and I'll make this quick." Jeff said, standing confidently from his place beside the bed nearest the door. He hadn't noticed the unmoving body until he reached that position; it was female, mottled- which meant very, very dead- and was missing half its head. _Who in the hell is that?_ She looked like she had been dragged, or tossed maybe, between the two beds, invisible from the doorway. Hidden.

"This is between me and whoever the hell I make it!" Winthrop shouted, kicking Dean's back so hard that his body rolled. He had been facing the door, facing Jeff. Now he was facing Winthrop and laying on his bad shoulder. Heart-wrenching whimpers and tiny sobs and pitiful gasps were the only sounds in the room for a few seconds.

"Stop hurting him!" The same voice from before, the one Jeff heard from outside, yelled. It was the boy he couldn't see very well; the one stuffed into the corner. He sounded okay, at least.

Winthrop responded by locking eyes with Jeff and kicking Dean in the stomach, not as hard this time, but enough to elicit a choked scream from the boy.

Jeff couldn't bear the thought of the boy suffering any more because of him. The poor thing spent twelve years away from his family because Jeff couldn't wait a night for John to get a babysitter. Dean was tortured for most of his life because Jeff didn't bother to chase down the vampires who ran off early during their raid. John's boys didn't get to grow up together because Jeff thought only of himself.

Times had changed. Jeff wasn't his own top priority anymore.

The hunter took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. _Now or never._ He lunged forward, raising the machete higher with each step until he was close enough to strike.

Winthrop flinched away but it was too late.

Jeff felt the blade sink into soft, squishy flesh and hit bone. Vertebrae, he thought. It stopped there, but one more good hit would-

Electric pain flushed out Jeff's vision into one big white sheet. He fell to the floor next to Dean's back and clutched at his stomach, where the pain radiated from. Something warm and wet spilled over his fingers.

Once his vision returned, his heart nearly stopped.

Winthrop was growling, standing over Jeff and Dean with a machete stuck in his forearm. In a sickening display, he pulled the blade out, looked it over almost nonchalantly, and promptly drove it directly through Jeff's stomach.

Jeff couldn't even scream there was so much pain.

Winthrop wasn't even phased. "I'll kill you first, if Winchester gets here before you die."

* * *

"C'mon, Jefferson…" John listened, waited, practically _prayed_ for the man to pick up his phone. No such luck. This was his fourth time calling and though the phone rang- and rang and rang- no one ever picked up. "What the hell, man?"

John set the phone down beside him and pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. His fingernails found their way to his teeth; he thought he'd managed to kick that nasty habit years ago, after Dean picked it up from him. As always, he was wrong.

 _So… this means something, right? Jeff's not answering, but Dean is with Winthrop. He sounded surprised; Dean must've gone to him on his own. Didn't say anything about Jeff, so what? Dean ran off? Then why hasn't Jeff called me yet, or at least sent me a message?_

 _Dammit. Can't trust that man with anything. Can't believe I left my son in his protection after what he did. How could I have been so stupid?_

As soon as John rolled through the next town on his way to Plainfield, he pulled the atlas into his lap and tried to figure out how long it would take him to get there.

 _Forty-five more minutes._ _I'm coming, boys._

* * *

"Welcome back to hell." John muttered to himself, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach at the sight of the Andover Inn. This place still haunted his nightmares and seeing it in person once more only served to fuel his anxiety.

 _Dean? DEAN?!_

"Stop." John breathed, closing his eyes and trying to push the awful memories away before they could get him worked up. Already his palms were sweaty, his pulse beat in his ears, and his heart was pounding.

 _This is where I lost him. This is where I let him down. I abandoned my kids and ruined their lives, sentenced them to- to-_

 _Stop. Make it right._

With shaking hands, John pulled a small baggy from the glovebox. An emergency stash of skunk cabbage, trillium, and saffron ashes he stole- er, borrowed- from Bobby's house the evening they arrived. He took a few moments to scrub the stuff all over him, patting it in so that the ash barely showed on his clothes. If he could mask his scent for even a few seconds, it would buy him enough time to take Winthrop by surprise.

John exited his vehicle, machete strapped to the side of his belt. He moved the thing to the back of his belt so it would be hidden when he entered the room. One deep breath later, shut his door.

Glancing around the parking lot, checking for cameras he knew wouldn't be there, John did a double take. There was the van that took his sons back in Temple. There was Jeff's vehicle.

"What the hell?" John muttered. _Did he drive Dean here?_ _There's no way he would… Then what happened?_

 _Only one way to find out, I guess. Please let my boys be okay._

With a heavy sigh and a quick crack of his neck, John walked up to the motel door directly in front of the van and did something he normally would never do.

He knocked.

And waited.

Seconds later, the door- which seemed in less than working order- creaked open, revealing a tall, lean man who was the spitting image of that blurry form on the security camera photo from across the street that was the only lead John had for almost three months on who took his oldest son.

 _Winthrop._

"What?" The man snapped, holding the door open just enough for John to see in with a trained eye. All the emotions of the past hours faded briefly in that moment as he took inventory of his situation.

There was nothing suspicious to be seen unless you were an experienced hunter. John saw a few small drops of blood spattered on the walls here and there, barely visible. He heard soft moaning and labored breathing, quieter than the breeze in the woods around them. He smelled the beginnings of decay. Something in that room was dead and had been for at least an hour; that scent was layered with the metallic tingle of coagulating blood- a lot of it.

John could see the beds, too. Past the far bed he saw two bowed heads, leaning against the mattress like they were tired, or- or...

 _He wouldn't have killed them yet. Not without me being here to witness it._ John tried to push the panic away with very little luck.

One head was covered with black hair, the other with brown. Upon closer inspection, both were moving ever so slightly, the darker of the two shaking constantly.

The relief in John's chest was short lived.

The nearest bed quickly caught his attention. He recognized his oldest son instantly.

Dean was propped up on the headboard, covered with blankets and seemingly asleep, breathing easy.

 _What the hell?_

John returned his attention to the man before him with Winthrop released an irritated growl. John spoke in his friendliest tone. "I was wondering if-"

Once he saw the vampire's guard drop- the eye roll was a good indicator- he shoved at the door, toppling the monster into some piece of furniture, and barged into the room.

He nearly stepped on Jeff. There was so much blood he wouldn't have known where the wound was if not for the blade sticking out of his stomach. John didn't know if the man was still alive. He wasn't moving.

"Holy shi-"

Neither was Dean. John's light sleeper hadn't woken up at the noisy intrusion. He wasn't asleep after all.

"Dad?"

"Mr. Winchester?"

But the other two were wide awake and still kickin'. That was all John needed. _Dad's here, boys._

He rushed forward at what he could now see was a pre-bloodied vampire. The thing had a few wounds already, probably thanks to Dean and Jeff.

"You?!" Winthrop shouted, desperately trying to scramble to his feet. "You're John Win-"

John was too fast. Unfortunately, Winthrop raised his arm to stop the blade and got another deep cut instead of a well-deserved beheading.

The vampire swiped at John's legs with his own and while John didn't fall, he did lose his balance, stumbling and catching himself against the little heating unit just under the window. By the time he turned to face his opponent, Winthrop was up and coming at him.

The first fist sent for John's face shattered the window behind him. Winthrop grabbed John's jacket and held him still for the second blow.

 _Gonna feel that in the morning._ John groaned, seeing stars, and put all his effort into swinging the machete upwards into Winthrop's arm. The vampire cried out and shoved away from John, scrambling back a few steps and clutching his arm to his chest.

Winthrop's eyes became wild over the course of a few seconds as he searched for some kind of advantage. _This is not going as planned._

 _But neither had that._ Winthrop spotted Jeff and hurried to stand over him. He ripped the blade from Jeff's torso, ignoring the cry of pain that came from the man as he did so. The blade was held over Jeff's throat. "Stop, or he's the first to die."

John- who was relieved that Jeff was still alive- didn't get to answer him. Instead, the hunter was looking over Winthrop's shoulder and rushing forward mouthing the word 'no'.

Winthrop screamed louder than he ever had as something dug into his damaged arm with enough force to shatter bone. He felt his arm just below his shoulder break, felt the flesh rip itself free, and heard the dull thump behind him as the limb fell from his body. Warm blood flowed from the stump and Winthrop whipped around to see who had done this to him.

Castiel stood behind Winthrop, shaking like the frightened child he was, green in the face as he looked between the machete- Dean's machete- in his hands and the severed arm leaking blood all over both of his once white tennis shoes. He was still bound at the ankles.

John had watched him quietly get up from his place behind the bed, shake a length of rope off of his wrists, and produce a machete before hopping silently up behind the vampire. He must've seen John take a crack at that arm back at the window. Castiel found a weak spot and broke it.

And now he was right in the pathway of an angry, knife wielding vampire who had one arm and a death wish.

"Drop!" John shouted. He wasn't in a good position to block Winthrop's swing; he was too far away yet to use his own machete to knock Winthrop's off course. Castiel's only hope was to obey John without hesitation.

And he did.

Castiel dropped to his knees and covered his head and neck with his hands just as John practically jumped at Winthrop. He caught the fang's elbow mid-swing.

John was launched backward on the backswing as soon as the vampire retaliated. He hit the wall and sunk down, ears ringing and head throbbing from the impact.

Dean still hadn't woken up.

"You'll pay for this." Winthrop growled at Castiel before rushing the bigger of the threats.

The father saw Cas half-crawl, half-drag himself away to where Sam had pushed himself out from between the bed and the wall. The older of the two quickly cut his ankle bonds, then began working on Sam's wrist restraints.

Winthrop filled John's field of view before he could see Sam freed.

The vampire kicked John's machete out of his hand when he raised his arms to protect his face. The blade went clattering away from him, coming to rest near the door.

Winthrop took his machete and looked it over briefly before ramming his foot into John's stomach and using the distraction to slide the blade right through John's arm, pinning him to the wall.

John swore loudly and kicked at the vampire but he was already out of range, heading for Castiel. The red hot, electric pain wasn't the worst John had ever experienced, but it was up there. He tried to control his breathing and grunted at every pitiful attempt to remove the blade and free himself.

 _Gotta get to… to Sammy and…_

So intense was John's concentration on removing the blade that he almost failed to notice Dean come to. The kid opened his eyes, shook his head, looked around and found his father and brothers. Then he stood up, still bound at the wrists and ankles, dangerously unsteady on the squishy bed, and launched himself onto the vampire's back.

The pair, thrown off balance, collided with the wall, hitting the floor a split second later. Winthrop growled inhumanly and elbowed Dean _hard_ into the wall they'd met. Dean's face contorted in pain as Winthrop stood, glared at him, and returned his attention to the younger boys.

John's vision was just clear enough to see that Sam was free and he had the machete.

Sam's first swing hit the sweet spot; right at the base of the neck where all the delicate, life-giving structures were.

Unfortunately, Sam was still just a kid. And while he was brilliant and talented, he was small for his age. The blow didn't go more than two inches in. Winthrop could still fight back.

The vampire grabbed Sam's wrist and wrenched it away with a sickening snap, leaving the machete in place. Sam fell to the side, leaving Cas unprotected.

Cas, having watched a few movies in his lifetime, rushed in while Winthrop was still focused on Sam and grabbed the handle of the blade, dragging it from right to left across Winthrop's neck, using all his weight to make progress.

Unfortunately, Castiel was a kid without parents. There was no one to make sure he had good food to eat or to make sure he ate every day. Castiel didn't weight enough for his age and height. The blade didn't sink in as much as he wanted it to before Winthrop tossed him away with the back of his mangled forearm as if Castiel were no more than a ragdoll.

Cas landed beside Dean, bumping into him before he stopped skidding across the floor. Luckily, he still had the blade and it was still very _outside_ of both their bodies.

Dean was panting and had tears in his eyes.

Castiel didn't know what to do. He was out of ideas.

"Go help Sam." Dean breathed as he shoved himself up onto his good shoulder.

"Wait, wait." Cas' voice shook as he scrambled to cut Dean's arms free. He managed to get Dean's legs free, too, after just a few seconds of sawing away with the sharp blade. "Okay, good."

Dean struggled to his feet and stumbled across the floor toward his father.

Cas stood and, with a healthy shot of adrenaline, hurried back toward the vampire to help Sam, as he had been told. _What do I do what do I do what do I do-_

The phone caught Cas' eye. He lurched around the body of Lucy like it was nothing and picked the old, yellowing phone up. Then he did something he never thought he'd do.

Cas ripped the cord out of the wall and scrambled over the bed towards a vampire.

Winthrop was busy kicking the shit out of Sam when Cas wrapped the cord around his neck. It was a good thing the fang was distracted when he started because now that Cas had a firm grip on the cord- tugged so tight it was actually _inside_ the wound Cas left in his neck earlier- Winthrop fought with renewed energy. The pair struggled away from Sam before Winthrop rammed Cas into a wall, pinning him between the wall and his body with enough force to leave the kid gasping for air.

Winthrop was suffocating, so the Winchester boy would, too. The vampire knew who could last longer without air.

 _No no no, don't do that. Stop-_ John continued to frantically tug at the blade in his shoulder until he saw Dean stumbling toward him.

"Wait, wait, I got it." Dean said, pulling weakly on the handle and looking like he was already thoroughly spent. Each poorly coordinated jerk sent shots of pain and agony through John's arm, neck, and abdomen, moreso than his own attempts had.

John put one hand on Dean's shoulder to stop him. "Hey, stop- on three, okay?" He moved to cover both of Dean's hands with both of his own on the handle of blade. Dean nodded. "One. Two. _Three._ "

It took a few deep breaths, but John managed to not pass out as the white overwhelmed him again.

At least the blade was out.

"Dad?"

"I'm good." John grunted, trying to blink the remaining spots away.

"We could use some help."

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Please leave me a review. Say anything you want: questions, comments, thoughts, predictions, etc...

See you sometime next week! Can't wait to hear from you!


	48. Master of Puppets

**A/N: Vivi here. It's been a while, yeah? I missed a week, I think. Sorry. I lost a friend to suicide last week and I had to help run his funeral. It's been rough.**

 **If you feel depressed, or like there's no way out, get help. Go see a doctor, a therapist, someone who really, actually knows what they're doing and will respect what you feel and say. You might think leaving all of us behind is easier, but it sure as hell is not. It's just shifting the pain to everyone you love. We would so much rather have you around. Suicide is permanent. You can't take it back. Remember that before you do anything.**

 **As someone who knows those feelings firsthand and has seen what it does to people and their loved ones, _get help_. Life can be so much better. **

**_You deserve better._**

 **I know my stories are violent and tumultuous; if it hurts you, stop reading. Your emotional and mental health is exponentially more important than this fictional story.**

 **Same warnings apply. This chapter is more violent than usual.**

 **Thanks for staying with me.**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _It took a few deep breaths, but John managed to not pass out as the white overwhelmed him again._

 _At least the blade was out._

 _"Dad?"_

 _"I'm good." John grunted, trying to blink the remaining spots away._

 _"We could use some help."_

* * *

"Right. Go get Sam and Cas and get out." John pushed himself up and away from the wall with his good arm and took a quick breath before charging toward the vampire that was slowly suffocating one of his kids.

 _One of_ my _kids? Well, I guess he kinda is now. Not my son, but my 'kid'…_ John wasn't sure exactly when the strong protective feeling he had for the new kid started up. It was almost the same one that he felt in the woods when he first found Dean, but this was… different. When he found Dean, the feeling had been almost exclusively a protect-or-he'll-die feeling. This one had that too, but it had a lot of the protect-and-he'll-thrive fatherly feeling thrown in. The same kind he had for Sam from the moment he knew the little squirt was coming into the world and for Dean, from the moment John realized what it meant to be a father. It didn't feel wrong to have that same drive, that same need to protect, for Castiel so he hadn't worried about it up until that point. And he chose to not worry about it at that point either; what did it matter if the kid was crushed to death by a vampire before John got some damn down time to sort his thoughts? _Save the kid first, think later._

John approached the vampire who was still trying viciously to remove the phone cord from his neck- passing Jeff, who was wincing in pain, on the same spot on the floor as he was when John arrived- and kicked the side of the fang's knee hard enough to snap the ligament there and take the knee out from under him. With a strangled cry, Winthrop fell forward, Cas landing on his back for a split second before John grabbed the kid by both arms and hauled him up, half-dragging half-guiding him a good yard away before letting go and pushing him toward the door. John was glad Cas let go of the cord when he did; the kid was shaking hard and gasping for breath. He couldn't have held on much longer anyway.

By that point, Dean was with Sam, trying to get the kid to stand so he could be removed from the situation. It was a struggle and Dean wasn't sure was steady enough to get both of them past the fight that was going down between them and the door.

Winthrop had managed to loosen the cord enough to draw air into his lungs and was currently struggling to his feet, maneuvering his leg in such a way that his ruptured ligament wouldn't be absolutely necessary. The wild look in his eyes was sharpened when he realized he was virtually surrounded. Two on the left. Two on the right. But the two on the left- Dean and Sam- were barely on their feet as it was. Winthrop chose that direction.

"Back off!" John shouted, rushing forward when he saw Winthrop start to go for his sons. As if shouting would do a single thing to stop that monster.

Dean was body checked into the space between the bed and the wall where Cas and Sam had been held. He landed on his bad shoulder and cried out. The vampire didn't hear him as he fell to his knees and wrapped his one remaining hand around Sam's throat. Sam, still recovering from being kicked repeatedly in the stomach and chest, made a sickening choking sound and reached up to pry at the hand. He succeeded only in scratching his own neck with his fingernails.

"One more step and I'll snap his neck." Winthrop growled, turning his head to watch John freeze just a few steps away.

Chills ran down John's spine as he watched his littlest squirm and fight weakly against the hand pinned against his trachea. "You don't have to do this. Let him go, and I'll let you leave this room alive." John said with his uninjured arm outstretched, as if he were calming a rabid animal. "I swear." _Even if it kills me to do it, as long as my boys make it out alive it's worth it._

Winthrop tightened his grip, earning more desperate pawing from the youngest Winchester as the kid tried to draw in air. "None of you are leaving this room alive."

Unbeknownst to the vampire, Winthrop had broken one of his most strict personal rules: never turn your back on _anyone or anything_. In all his time on this earth- which was centuries at that point- he'd rarely broken it and had never suffered because of it. Perhaps it was the severity of his situation. Perhaps it was the immense pain he was in. It could have been the adrenaline that was trying its hardest to blur his thoughts and stop him from bleeding out. Whatever the cause, he'd turned his back on the kid he spent twelve years watching his back for. The kid he _knew_ would send a knife through his neck the first chance he got, even at the tender age of six. The kid he _knew_ would be stalking him, planning his revenge, perfecting his techniques. The kid he _knew_ would either end him, or be ended by him.

Dean, powering through hypovolemic dizziness and weakness and dodging the black dots that danced around him, got to his hand and knees and crawled silently toward Winthrop's exposed back.

The severed stump of Winthrop's left arm was within his grasp and Dean knew exactly what kind of pain could be elicited from a wound like that. Even for a vampire- with their extremely high pain tolerance- this would hurt. Dean reached out just as his kidnapper pressed harder on his little brother's neck.

When Dean lived with the Ross', he made most of the meals. One of his favorites to make was meatloaf; it was calorie rich and filling even in small quantities, which was all he ever got. That, and he could snack on the bread crumbs and veggies before he mixed them in. Lucy never noticed.

Winthrop's bleeding and ragged stump felt like a warmer, bonier version of the ground beef Dean used to make meatloaf as he sunk his fingertips into the exposed flesh, avoiding the sharp spikes of bone at the center.

As expected, the vampire let out an almighty howl and reared back, letting go of Sam. Dean lunged forward, digging in deeper and using his bad arm to hold onto the vampire's shirt as best he could. "Get Sam, Dad!" Dean shouted, dodging an elbow from the monster as Winthrop tried to free himself from the unbearable fire and electricity and venom and magma inching its way up the inside of his severed upper arm.

John, instead of doing what his son told him to, reached to the floor and picked up a length of rope; the very same one that had been used to bind one of his boys. He grabbed Winthrop's good arm and forced it to the thing's side, tying it down tight before he did the same to the vampire's legs. Then he took the front of Winthrop's shirt and pulled him up and away from his oldest son, dumping him in the corner of the room as he finally stopped screaming and yelling and started panting and growling.

"You okay?" John went to kneel in front of Dean, confident that the creature wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He lifted his son's chin gently when Dean didn't immediate look up and answer. "Dean?"

"I will be." Dean shot him a quick, weak smile before taking in a shaky breath and moving to support his aching shoulder by lifting his bad arm with his good, blood-slicked hand. "Kill him fast, Dad. Before he hurts anyone else. Mr. Jeff isn't doin' so good…"

"I got somethin' else planned, son." John said darkly, letting go of his boy to check on the others. _Something slow and painful. More painful than twelve years of my suffering and Dean's suffering combined. No less than he deserves._

"Huh?" Dean watched his father stand and sent a nervous glance towards the writhing body in the corner of the room, still gasping for breath from what _he_ did to him.

"Just stay put." John replied, glancing over his shoulder to find that, yes, Castiel had managed to catch his breath and wasn't shaking as bad as he sat against the far wall, near where John had been pinned beside the heating unit. "Sammy? Talk to me."

Sam, now coughing up a storm and holding his neck as he tried to breathe, did not respond to his father's command.

John knelt beside Sam, ignoring the sharp pains in his knees because hey, what was one more ache to add to his list? He gently pulled Sam's hands away from his neck and inspected the damage. "Can you breathe, kiddo? I need you to breathe."

Sam had tears running down his face and struggled to stop the coughing fit. Dad could tell he was trying hard, but it wasn't an instant kind of thing, stopping a cough like that. It took about thirty seconds for the time between each cough to lengthen, and even then it was another thirty seconds before they paused long enough for Sam to breathe deeply and not immediately cough again.

It was enough time for Cas to inch his way over to stand behind John, anxiously looking between the vampire in the corner and Sam on the floor. "Mr. Winchester? He's still alive." Cas spoke quietly, nervously.

He jumped when Dean grabbed his arm and used it to pull himself to his feet. Cas wasted no time in putting a supporting arm around Dean's shoulders and guiding him slowly to sit on the edge of the closest bed.

"I know. You two should go out to the car. Wait for me there, with the doors locked. Castiel, do you know how to drive?" John asked as he pulled Sam into a sitting position and held him upright while he tried to breathe slowly. He hadn't stopped coughing, but they were slowing down and sounding less productive. Less like they were moving stuff out of the way and more like they were just responding to irritation.

"Uh, kinda?"

"Then go out and-"

"We're not leaving until he's dead." Dean said quickly. "I'll kill him myself if I have to."

"Get to the car, Dean. That's an order." John barked, glaring at his oldest before returning his attention to his youngest. "We're gonna get you to a hospital, okay, Sammy? You and Jeff. Don't be scared, but your throat might swell up and try to close on us if we wait too long."

"I'm fine, Dad." Sam croaked, punctuating his words with a sharp cough. "Kill it and let's help J-Jeff."

"Castiel, drive them to the nearest hospital. Or at least into town and call an ambulance."

"Sir, I-"

"I'm not leaving, Dad. I have to see him dead. I have to see his head come off." Dean said firmly. "I'm not leaving."

"Yes, you are." John turned, still support Sam's back, to glare again at his oldest when unexpected movement caught his eye.

Winthrop had managed to free his hand and untie his ankles. He sent a fist into John's face, sending him sprawling away from the boys and onto the nasty carpet across the room, clutching his broken nose.

The vampire, not missing a beat, backhanded Cas and sent him to the floor as well.

Dean jumped up and, moving through the pain in his bad shoulder, wrapped both hands around Winthrop's neck, letting his fingers sink into the cuts. He pressed hard and fast, deepening the wounds before Winthrop had recovered from his attack on Castiel.

Dean used his body weight to lean in, pushing Winthrop away from the bed and off balance; they collided with the far wall just as John managed to stand.

Unfortunately, that was the moment hypovolemia decided to take the strength in Dean's legs. He collapsed, momentarily passing out.

Winthrop took a gasping breath and saw the kid hit the floor. He reared back for a satisfying kick to the gut but was thrown off balance before he managed to connect. John gripped the front of the vampire's shirt and used the torn ligament in the creature's leg to his advantage. Dragging the fang along, he shoved him up against the wall once, twice, three times before letting go and reaching down to where he knew the phone cord was. He could strangle the thing, tie it up good this time, get his boys somewhere safe, and come back to finish the job the right way.

The cord wasn't there.

John frantically searched the floor, but instead found his youngest son's shoes. With his youngest son still in them.

Sam had the cord in his hands, ready to fight, but John didn't have time to take it from him and get the job done. Winthrop was coming back to his senses. John returned to the monster and slammed him against the wall a few more times, leaving large dents in the sheetrock behind its head with every impact.

Once he was confident that he had a few seconds before Winthrop could consciously plan an attack, John looked to Sam. "Give me the cord."

"No, hold him still." Sam was already in motion, shuffling in behind the vampire that John was now holding well away from the wall.

"Sam, don't do that-" John snapped. Winthrop growled weakly and reached up to try and free himself as Sam wound the cord around and around his neck.

Winthrop let out a strangled howl when he realized what was happening. The cord was back, snuggled deep in the cuts on the side and front of his neck, tearing new ones in to the back as well. Sam pulled as tight as he could, practically pinning himself against the back of the man as he struggled to keep his hold.

John was doing his best to keep Winthrop from grabbing Sam or falling onto him as he struggled. He had one hand pinning Winthrop's only arm to the creature's own chest, and the other keeping him upright and away from another kid-between-a-wall-and-a–hard-place situation.

"Dean, be careful not to-" John started to glance over his shoulder when he heard Castiel speak, but stopped short.

Dean came into view, close to John's right side, with a machete in hand.

The machete promptly went right through Winthrop's abdomen; only half the blade was showing when Dean moved back. It had undoubtedly severed the vampire's abdominal aorta; the huge blood vessel that supplies the lower half of the body with blood. The one that could cause a person to bleed out in no time flat if it ruptured.

John waited in tense silence to see what the vampire would do. The two adults locked eyes and he saw the fight leave Winthrop's pupils. The vampire's muscles went slack and he stopped fighting.

Just like that.

"Dean, back up." John said quietly. The kid was well within kicking range if Winthrop decided that was a good idea to use up the last of his energy. John was standing on the side of the torn ligament, so he couldn't be kicked, but Dean…

When Dean didn't move, John let go of Winthrop's limp arm to push his son back. It wasn't a thought-out movement, but it did the job. John gently pushed Dean a few steps back into a safe area.

Sam cried out and stumbled back, away from the monster who was now wearing a sinister, weak grin. "Dad!" Sam fell to the floor, landing on his rear and clutching his stomach.

Horrified, John looked from his son to the vampire.

Winthrop had his only remaining hand wrapped around the handle of the machete.

There wasn't any of the shining, silver blade showing anymore.

In one swift motion, John shoved Winthrop around to look at his back. Sure enough, a good four inches of hair-splittingly sharp machete blade, coated in thick blood, was showing.

John pushed Winthrop back to face him, pulled the knife out of the creature, and reared back, severing its head in one go. He barely even noticed the kickback as the blade dislocated a vertebra and sliced through cartilage. He didn't look to see the head bounce and roll as the body fell.

John was rushing to his baby boy, who was now on his side, clutching his stomach with both arms, howling with pain, tears flowing anew, face scrunched up, and hyperventilating with weak coughs breaking through every few seconds.

"Dad?" Dean whispered, his face pale as he stumbled unsteadily toward his brother.

John not-so-gently lifted Sam's arms, against the kid's will, and carefully pried the shirt away. There was a stab wound bleeding profusely from Sam's upper abdomen.

The father swept the kid up in his arms and blew past the other two. "In the car. Now." He said loudly on the way by. Cas rushed to follow him, opening the Impala's side door. "Get in and keep him on the seat."

Cas got in the car and received Sam, who was laid on the seat beside him. John quickly took off his long sleeved shirt, replacing his jacket once it was removed, and threw it into the car. "Push that on the wound. Keep pressure on it. Push hard, got it?"

"Yes, sir." Cas muttered, his face going pale as he started pushing and Sam screamed, writhing away from him on the seat.

Dean was just shuffling out the door, holding his arm, as John was going back into the room. "Get in the car."

Dean did as he was told.

John only needed one thing from the room: a pulse from Jeff, so they could all go to the hospital and end this nightmare.

He didn't get what he needed.

* * *

 **A/N: Leave me a review. See you next week. Probably not Monday or Tuesday. My massive test is on Tuesday. Later in the week, like Thursday.**

 **Love, Vivi**


	49. I'll Be Your Shelter

**A/N: Vivi here! Been a while. Sorry.**

 **Warnings for language and gore and fluff.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _Dean was just shuffling out the door, holding his arm, as John was going back into the room. "Get in the car."_

 _Dean did as he was told._

 _John only needed one thing from the room: a pulse from Jeff, so they could all go to the hospital and end this nightmare._

 _He didn't get what he needed._

* * *

"Shit shit shit shit shit." John muttered under his breath, watching the motel and an old friend disappear in the rearview mirror, his words overpowered by the sobbing and coughing and moaning from the backseat. _Can't believe he's gone… But Sammy. That's- that's not something I can fix alone. A smaller cut, maybe, but this… He's lost so much blood and it's just too deep, I can't- I can't treat him myself. Has to be a hospital. Another god-forsaken hospital._

 _Damnit._

John practically growled as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. A quiet sound in the seat beside him almost made him jump.

 _Hiccup._ "I did that."

John barely heard the whispered horror in his son's voice as he flew down the road. Dean was in the front seat, twisted around to see his little brother writhing and holding his stomach, trying not to soak Cas' pant leg with tears while also trying to shove Cas' hand, which was holding John's shirt firmly to the wound, as far away as possible.

"Dean, sit down and buckle up. Winthrop did that, not you." John said sternly, searching for the hospital sign he saw on the way into town. A loud hiccup put John's already frayed nerves on edge. _Dean's having a meltdown_ now _of all times?_ "Now, Dean."

"I-" _Hiccup._

Anger rose up in John's chest and he just barely pushed it down before he spoke. "Sit. Buckle. Now."

Dean was frozen in place, the occasional hiccup being the only source of movement John could find in the kid.

Out of patience, John reached over and grabbed the back of Dean's jacket, tugging him forcefully away from the seat before pushing his good shoulder to turn him around. A gentle nudge was all it took to get his son to sit correctly in his seat after that. "Buckle."

Dean did as he was told, a shell-shocked, horrified expression plastered on his face. He stared wide eyed out the window, seeing nothing as his face steadily paled and his breathing became shallow and fast.

"You didn't do that, Dean. It wasn't you. Winthrop pushed the blade into Sam _after_ you stabbed him- stabbed Winthrop. You couldn't have known he would do that." John said, glancing back to see Cas, who was currently a mix of panic and cold determination as he tried to hold Sam still and keep pressure on the wound through the bumps and turns the car took. "Just- just calm down, son. Take a breath."

"I killed my brother." Dean said, the same deadened look in his eyes as John turned briefly to check on him. "I killed my brother _again._ "

"You never killed Sam, Dean, and you haven't even hurt him. I need you to get a grip, for your brother's sake. Just hold off on the meltdown until we're in the clear at the hospital." John said, the sound of his own voice grating in his ears as his inner, much better father told him not to say that. It wouldn't help anyone but himself and it would hurt Dean. But he said it anyway and didn't regret it because Dean quieted down. Except for the hiccups, of course.

Those hiccups and a few exhausted sobs were the only sounds for a good few minutes as John raced down the road, nearly frantic in his efforts to find the hospital. Hell, at that point, even a stupid clinic would do.

"Mr. Winchester? There's, uh… kind of a lot of blood back here." Cas' timid voice was practically a shout in the heavy silence that had fallen on the car.

"How's his pulse?"

A pause that allowed the comforting rumble of the road to fill the car ensued. _Why isn't Sam making noise anymore?_

"It's faster than I can count. That's not good, is it?" Cas swallowed and returned both hands to the bloody shirt that was now soaked through and dripping lazily onto the floor.

"No it is not." John forced the words out and tried to calm his tone before speaking. He failed. "He pass out?"

"N-not quite, I don't think. His eyes are still open."

"Breathing okay?"

"Fast, like he's gasping. And, uh, he's not moving as much."

"Dammit." The word was just a defeated whisper as a dumpy little gas station came into view around a curve in the road. John, utterly lost at that point, pulled over and threw the car into park. He raced into the building, where a young man was seated at the counter, reading over a newspaper and not paying any attention to his store. "Hospital. Where is it?"

The man looked up and saw John's bleeding arm and the blood that was smeared over much of his clothing and face. He put down the newspaper, its draw suddenly paling in comparison to the unfolding situation before him. "What?"

"The goddamn _hospital_. I need directions." John barked, panic starting to rise in his voice. "My kids - please, I just-"

"Okay, cool it, man. It's pretty far, on the other side of town, but the fire department is just around the block. They keep an ambulance there and it's always staffed, so if I call 911 for ya, they can be here in no time. Get help faster, y'know?" The man turned and reached behind him on the counter, picking up a yellowing phone with an even more yellow, curly cord. "Just say the word. Or you can take 77 about 20 miles north and go right on Main for three miles."

John barely gave the decision any thought. "Call them."

* * *

"Dad?"

"I'm right here, kiddo. Don't talk, just focus on breathing."

"'m scared. _Hurts._ "

"Hold still and let the man do his job, Sam." A pause thickened the air while Sam went silent and still. John waited six seconds before speaking so Sam would hear him. "Just stay calm for me."

"Why's it hurt, Dad? Wha' happ'ned?" A soft sob could be heard over the rustling of fabric and plastic. "Where's Dean?"

"Hush. We're getting you help, okay? Dean's fine." Then, quieter, John spoke to an EMT as the woman quickly and efficiently strapped Sam to the gurney. "He has absence seizures, epilepsy. Runs in the family. Missed his medicine today."

 _R-runs in the family?_ Dean stood under the gas station's roof, feeling very small, very alone, and very cold. He shivered – from cold or emotion, he wasn't sure - beside the Impala with Cas and watched the EMTs and paramedic strap Sam to a gurney while John gently held him down. The kid wasn't putting up much of a fight. He was more confused than anything.

 _But_ _I did that._

 _Didn't I? Just like the stab wound. I- I gave Sam his seizures. I did that. I dropped him when he was little, on his head. Didn't I?_

 _I ruined his life._

"Anybody riding with us?" One of the EMTs, a young man, taller than Dean and probably just a few years older, asked, interrupting Dean's thoughts. He looked from John to Dean and Cas and back to John as he waited for an answer.

John hadn't thought about the issue up until that point. The father desperately wanted to ride with his little boy, but… He glanced over his shoulder and took in the scene. Dean was shaking, swaying unsteadily, and looked ready to pass out as he stared at his younger brother. Castiel looked to be the most put together of the pair, arms crossed nervously over his chest as he caught John's gaze and looked past him to watch the other EMT push Sam's gurney into the ambulance and out of sight.

"Can you drive?" John asked Cas quietly, more than willing to hand over his keys if it meant staying with his baby boy when he was needed most.

"I, uh… N-not well, I'm still learning. I-I-…" Big, innocent, baby blue eyes looked right in John's soul and told him _I need you too_ and _I'm not ready_ in the same breath.

"You don't have to." John's voice was rife with disappointment but the panicked look of fear on the kid's face was enough to remind the practiced father that he had other responsibilities and shouldn't push a stressed child to their limit.

 _And_ there was no way John was letting Dean drive in his condition.

"Sir? We need to go, your son passed out." The EMT made John's mind up for him.

The shot of adrenaline that hit John's bloodstream was just the kick he needed to leap into action. "Go. Get in the car, boys." John sent one last longing glace at the ambulance before hurrying back to his car, keys in hand. He flinched hard when the ambulance doors slammed shut.

Cas practically manhandled Dean into the backseat, sensing the urgency of the situation. Both boys were in the car before John dropped into the driver's seat and took off before Cas managed to pull the seat belt over Dean, then himself.

The Impala blended perfectly with the inky black of the night, reflecting the flashing lights of the deafening ambulance as it tailed the vehicle effortlessly. Once they arrived at the hospital, a tiny, almost cute little excuse for a facility, John parked in the first spot he found. He paused to help Cas extract Dean from the car before half-carrying his oldest through the emergency department doors.

A nurse at the desk looked up and gasped. "What happened?" She jumped from her seat and rounded the work station with practiced ease, her soft but calculating eyes already further into the situation than anyone's words.

"My sons- we were camping and- and…" John stuttered to a halt, the adrenaline suddenly leaving him and allowing his body to finally sense the blood loss and exhaustion that he'd been shoving away for so long.

"And? I'm listening." The woman demanded, already jogging away down a hall, talking quickly to someone out of sight before returning with a wheelchair.

"Uh…" John scrambled for an excuse as he lowered Dean into the chair.

"We were camping and some kind of animal attacked us." Cas said quietly, nervously, wringing his bloodied hands unconsciously.

"An animal did this?" The nurse didn't seem convinced. She walked back behind the desk and returned with a clipboard of paperwork and a pen.

"Yes. It- it was big and- and dark colored, brown maybe? I didn't see it very well." Cas spoke quickly. He watched as the nurse put the clipboard and pen in John's bloody hands.

"You're safe here, buddy." The nurse, whose nametag ready Denise, eyed John suspiciously before looking back at Cas with a reassuring smile. "We won't let anything or anyone hurt you anymore."

Cas just grinned, a crooked, tired gesture, before moving a step closer to John and grounding himself by touching the handle of Dean's wheelchair.

Dean hadn't moved or made a sound since he was put in that chair. John wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

"Thanks." The father nodded to the nurse, very well aware of her silent accusations. He wasn't sure why she thought he'd done this to his kids. He was bloody too. His nose was broken.

"Fill all that out for both boys and yourself and I'll put you on the waiting list." Denise said.

"But there's no one else here." Cas blurted out.

"We don't have many rooms and an ambulance just came in. Sorry, but you'll have to wait a little while, sweetheart." Denise smiled sympathetically at Cas before John moved to stand between the two of them.

"Was it a teenage boy?"

"I can't release that information-"

"He's my youngest."

The nurse frowned and looked down at her aged computer, squinting for a few long seconds. Then she looked back to John. "Name?"

"John Bennett. Dean, Sam, and Castiel are my sons."

Cas stared at John's back, his astonishment hidden from the nurse. _That's just our cover, right? He's not actually saying… John's not my dad. They're not my family. Not really. But what if… Nah, I'm too old to get adopted. But they're helping me, protecting me. Isn't that what family does, though? This… this is so confusing. I can't- what's going on?_

"His name is Sam Bennett. He just came in, right?" John asked impatiently.

"The computers haven't updated yet. I'm not sure. Fill out the paperwork and I'll go find out."

John was storming down the hallway before the woman was finished talking. Cas scurried behind him, pushing Dean as they went.

"Wait, you can't go back there." Denise yelled as she jogged after them, nearly tripping over her desk chair. "I'll call security!"

"Sir, is there a problem?" A man in gray scrubs met the trio, stopping John in his tracks with a firm hand to his uninjured, nonbloodied shoulder.

"My son was just brought in. I need to see him."

"Name?"

John rolled his eyes and growled softly before barking the name. "Sam Bennett."

"You must be Mr. Bennett, then. I'm Dr. Roberts. My team and I are looking at Sam's case right now. I take it these young men are with you?" Dr. Roberts looked to Cas, then to Dean with a worried gaze.

"Yeah, my other sons. Cas and Dean." John pointed at each in turn. "Where is Sam?"

"We're evaluating him right now. Please give us a few minutes and then I will personally take you to him. Does he have any bleeding disorders?"

"No, just epilepsy. Absence seizures."

"Okay. Fill out that paperwork. And… looks like I'm gonna have my nurse get a couple rooms prepped for you and your boys. You must've had a hell of a day." Dr. Roberts said quickly, his voice drowning out the quiet relaying of information from behind a curtain in the background.

"Like you wouldn't believe." John shook his head, finally looking down at the clipboard in his hand.

"Here, we have a tiny little waiting room back here just for families. I'm willing to bet you blew right past the nurse at the desk, didn't you?" Dr. Roberts said calmly as he led the broken family to an unlabeled wooden door. Inside was a comfortably small space with six chairs, tasteful décor, no windows, and plenty of warm light from a lamp with a green shade.

"Yeah." John breathed, stopping himself from rubbing his eyes just in time. Blood and eyes don't mix.

"I'll call security, tell 'em everything's fine." Dr. Roberts ushered the three men into the room and took a second to pat John on the back. "Someone will come in every couple of minutes and fill you in until I can take you to your boy, Mr. Bennett. And someone should be by soon to take your boys to exam rooms. I'm assuming you'd rather put off treatment until you can see your son?"

"That's right."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's get this show on the road."

"Thanks."

The doctor nodded and was gone.

"Mr. Winchester?" The soft voice drew John's attention to that familiar pair of nervous blue eyes. Cas wasn't looking good and it alarmed John somewhat to see the innocent panic in his expression.

"Y'okay, Castiel?"

"Uh, no, but I think something's wrong with Dean." Cas looked nervously to his new friend, who was still shaking but not making a single sound.

John set his mountain of paperwork aside and moved to sit opposite Dean's wheelchair in the small space. The thing practically swallowed the kid up; he looked so small and helpless in the midst of all that plastic and metal. "Dean? Dean."

It took a bit of gentle shaking, but eventually John got Dean to look up at him. His eyes were red and watery. The father couldn't help but sigh when failure washed over him again. It was no less suffocating than any other time he'd felt it. "Son, what hurts?"

"I'm fine." The response was so mechanical and bland that John had to take a deep breath to avoid rolling his eyes at his hurting little trooper.

"I know you're not. Don't lie to me."

A strong sob escaped Dean's lips and his face fell out of its strong mask. Tears fell, more sobs leaked out, and snot flowed freely. _The meltdown._

"I- I'm _sorry_."

"Oh, kiddo." John looked around quickly and found a box of tissues, already half used up. He held the box in front of Dean, but the kid's eyes were squeezed shut.

Dean's forehead was smushed into his father's chest before he knew it, the boy's fist held tight to the bloodied shirt before him. John held his son like that for what seemed like hours, letting saltwater and snot stain his clothes while they purified his son's conscious.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Dean." John whispered, gently patting his kid's back while the boy sniffled. "None of this, _none of it_ , is your fault."

Dean mumbled something unintelligible.

"Gotta get you checked out. You probably lost a lot of blood, huh? You feel tired? Dizzy?"

Dean mumbled again, this time a bit louder. Some sound barely made it past his father's shirt. "…Sam eh-se."

"What?" John pulled Dean away from him and held his good shoulder at arm's length. He saw those misty green eyes drop a few more tears before the kid sniffled and took a shaky breath. "What did you say?"

"I gave Sam epilepsy." More sobbing.

"No no no, Dean. Why would you think that?" John asked softly, trying to get his son to look up again.

"Dropped 'im."

"You dropped him? Dean, Sam's had epilepsy since he was a baby. Since he was born. There's no way you could've-"

"That night. I- I lost my grip on 'im. He fell 'n I put 'im in the closet, 'n…" Dean sniffled and shrugged, his eyes now burning red and oozing guilt.

"That night? The night you were kidnapped?" John asked with narrowed eyes, finally making the connection.

"Mmhmm."

John shook his head and squeezed Dean's shoulder. "No, Dean. Sam had epilepsy before that. He's had it his whole life. It runs in our family, kiddo."

"What?" _But…_

"My mother had it; her father had it. We have at least three generations of absence seizures in our family. Your mother and I were amazed that _you_ didn't have it, but then Sam came along and showed some signs… We were waiting until he started preschool to get him evaluated, but…" John shrugged and let out a sigh. "The fire and losing you… I couldn't lose him, too, even if the seizures are harmless. Sam's been on his medicine for most of his life. You didn't do anything to hurt Sam and you certainly didn't give him the seizures."

"Huh?" The words were barely scratching the surface of Dean's hazy brain. They didn't make any sense. _I- I gave Sam epilepsy…_

John saw the confusion in his son's face and frowned. "Maybe we should have this talk after you get treated. You're not lookin' too good."

"But… but…"

"Cas? Watch Dean for a minute." John pushed his oldest back into the wheelchair and stood once Cas was within arm's reach of the boy. He stuck his head out the door and looked up and down the hall before yelling. "My kid's headed downhill fast. Can I get some help?"

Two nurses popped their heads around the corner and came running once they saw the blood on John's clothing.

* * *

"Dad?"

"I'm here, Sammy."

Sam forced his eyes to open as far as they could, which was only enough to confirm two things: Dad really was right next to him and he really was in the hospital. His eye slid closed again, unwilling to take in that much light all at once.

"Don't… don't feel good."

"I know, kiddo. I know. But you'll be okay."

"Where's Dean?" Sam frowned briefly while he struggled to form the words that came so slowly to his brain and his tongue. _What's wrong with me?_

"He's here, too. Just a few rooms over."

"Is he okay?"

"He will be."

"And Cas? Is Cas okay?"

"Yeah. Got plenty of stitches, but he's okay." Unbeknownst to Sam, whose eyes were closed, John motioned to the window in the room. It had a large, built-in seat under it. There, in the dim light of the room, lay Castiel, asleep and covered with a scratchy hospital blanket. "He's just sleeping it off."

Curious, Sam peeled one eye open and looked around. John motioned again to the window and Sam popped a tiny grin. He didn't think Cas looked any worse for wear, sleeping peacefully and snoring occasionally as if he were right at home. The tightness in Sam's chest released before he realized it was even there. His family was okay. Dad was there. He could let his guard down.

A thought occurred to Sam after a few seconds. "But… why is Dean in a different room?"

John shrugged and tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Sam didn't need to think that his father was upset with _him._ It was the situation that had John more than a little miffed. "They had to give him some blood. Apparently they wanted to keep him overnight to make sure he didn't have a reaction. He's sound asleep right now."

"How long was I… out?"

"Couple hours. You didn't miss anything. We've just been waiting on you, Sammy."

"It's Sam. Why- why were you waiting on me?"

"You had surgery. That didn't take long, but you took forever to wake up."

Sam frowned and squirmed a bit as his skin started to crawl at the thought. "Surgery?"

"Yeah."

"Wha- why?"

"Just to make sure that little cut on your tummy didn't go deep enough to hurt anything vital."

"Dad, I'm not five. Don't say 'tummy'. So I'm okay, right?" Sam struggled to get his hands under himself, trying to push himself up to sit.

John laid a placating hand on Sam's chest, stopping him in his tracks. Sam let his head fall back to his pillow with a quiet plop. "No, you just had surgery. And on top of that a vampire bit your neck, strangled you, and beat the snot out of you. He took so much blood that they had to give you blood in the OR. Oh, and Doc said you have strep."

"Strep throat?"

"Yeah."

Sam groaned and swallowed hard. He didn't hurt anywhere. Not his stomach, not his head, not his neck, not his throat. All he felt was a nearly overwhelming sleepiness. A bone deep exhaustion that was trying to overtake him. "I- I got stabbed, right?"

John sighed. He'd been waiting for the past hour for Sam to come out of the anesthesia. The father thought his son would take a little while to snap back to his normal self, maybe be a little tired at first and want to go back to sleep, but no. The kid's brain was far ahead of his body. Couldn't hold his eyes open, but his every question needed answered immediately. _That's my boy, alright._ "I killed the vampire right after he did that. You- uh, he didn't hit anything dangerous. The doctors just needed to make sure you were okay. You lost a lot of blood. Got a couple transfusions, but you'll be okay. They said you'll be okay in a week or two. Back to your normal self."

Sam sniffed his nose and winced. The action sent cold air into his airway and that stung something fierce. It was a shock after the blissful numbness he woke up to.

John watched his son flinch and let his head fall into his hands. He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Watching Dean get his transfusions and being given the stink eye by two nurses as they put bandages on bandages on _bandages_ around the kid's wrists, ankles, neck, nose, and hands had taken a lot out of him. He'd _never once_ hit his sons and he was _damn tired_ of getting those looks from every medical provider they encountered. John tried to be a good father. He really did.

Once Dean was stable, the nurses turned their attention to Cas. Exhausted and somewhat panicked, Cas looked to John for reassurance. So of course, John went with him to make sure he was okay during his treatment. Poor kid got seventy something stitches in his legs to hold the skin torn from his shins in place so they could heal. The shoes Winthrop was wearing really did a number on Cas; under his jeans, there wasn't much more than flaps of skin and blood. Now, crisp white bandages sheathed the damage beneath a pair of baggy scrub pants.

John had to talk to a police officer for a good long while after Cas' treatment was finished. Luckily, the woman believed him- at least he thought she did- about the wild animal claims. She let him stay with the kids in the hospital after that interview.

"Dad?"

John snapped from his musings and lifted his head. His little boy's big brown eyes met his, filled with concern.

"You look like shit."

John huffed a laugh at the offhanded comment. "Language, Sam."

"Why didn't you let 'em fix your nose?"

He shrugged, remembering for not the first time how badly his nose was broken. Undoubtedly, he had two black eyes and plenty of swelling. "Had to make sure my boys were okay first." _Duh._

A tiny grin lit up Sam's face. "I'm okay. You can go get fixed now."

 _But what if you need me?_ "Think I'll stay with you a little longer, bud. Just to make sure..."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm okay, Dad. Really."

"I know, Sammy." John's smile was gentle and tired. "Just let me take my time. I almost lost you. All of you."

"But you didn't. And we're okay. You don't have to hurt anymore."

"Try to rest. I'll see the doctor soon."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

Sam sighed, allowing the deep sleepiness to take him over once again. "Fine. But I'm jus' gonna sleep for… for a little while."

"Sure, kiddo."

* * *

John was proud of himself for not screaming when the doctor pushed his nose back into place. He rushed the man; he had to get back to his kids as soon as possible. As a result, the doctor was snippy with him and none too kind with his doctoring.

John didn't mind much. He was glad the guy hurried. It took only twenty minutes for the doctor to fix his nose and stitch his arm shut. Once the doctor left the room, John told a nurse where he was going and then he was gone, back up to the fourth floor where his sons were sent after the ER finished with them.

He didn't hear what the nurse yelled after him.

* * *

"Dad?"

John jerked awake from where he'd fallen asleep in the recliner. It was sat beside Sam's hospital bed and within arm's reach of Cas' window sleeping spot. Both boys slept peacefully as John's head whipped around, trying to orient himself to the situation.

The father's eyes finally came to rest on his oldest son. When he left the ER, Dean was still asleep in his room. John waited there for half an hour, maybe, just in case Dean woke up. When he didn't, John moved to Sam's room, reassured by the very stable vitals Dean's nurse showed him.

"Dean? What are you doing out of bed?" John rubbed his eyes and pulled out his phone to check the time in the darkened room. "It's almost midnight."

"Hospitals freak me out." Dean said hesitantly, rubbing his arm, now in a shiny new sling. He stood in the doorway, looking guilty and nervous.

John blinked. The kid looked so much like that little four year old asking to sleep with Mommy and Daddy after a nightmare way back in Lawrence. After quietly clearing his throat, the dad took another long, calculating look at his oldest kid. "Buddy, where's your IV? Did you take it out or did the nurse?"

"Uh… You really gotta ask?"

He almost rolled his eyes. "You need that, Dean. It's got your pain meds-"

"I don't need medicine." Dean grumbled, looking to the ground to avoid the displeasure in his father's eyes.

John hauled his tired frame out of the recliner and went to his kid, putting a hand on either shoulder and hissing silently as his arm protested. He took a second to compose himself before commanding the boy's attention. "You need your medicine. It's keeping your body from rejecting the blood that was given to you by the doctors. And it's keeping your pain under control so you can rest and start healing."

"I'll heal faster at Bobby's house." Dean grumbled, unable to meet his father's eyes.

It had been no less than a terrified panic when Dean woke up and no one was there. No Dad, no Sam, no Cas, no Bobby- no one he knew was there. Dread pooled in his gut and he ripped the IV out, launching himself off the bed only to slip and fall on the polished floor. A nurse caught him in the act as he was getting up and bullied him back onto the bed. This nurse was nice though; after some resistance, Dean found out that Tyler just wanted to stop his arm from bleeding any more. Tyler said he didn't have to put the IV back in right away. Apparently all the night nurses knew that Dean was there with his family and that the rest of the family was in a different room. So Tyler patched Dean up, gave him a change of clothes- a hospital gown without blood on it and some socks with grips on the soles- and led him to Sam's room, where he said his brothers and father were.

So there Dean was, sulking with his father's hands on his shoulders and Tyler's eyes on his back from behind the nurse's desk.

Unbeknownst to all the Winchesters, each nurse in their ward had been tasked with monitoring the boys and their father for any signs of abuse. A security officer was stationed right outside the ward and could intervene at a moment's notice.

"That may be so, but you need to rest, son. You've had a hell of a week and the best thing for you now is to just _rest_."

"I can't."

"Why not? Look at me- why not?" John demanded quietly, drawing Tyler's attention. John didn't notice the extra set of eyes.

"I- it's a hospital. I don't feel safe here." Dean said quietly with a nervous shrug. "I wanna go home."

John pulled the kid in for a quick but firm hug, thanking his lucky stars that the kid was doing as well as he was. He let Dean go, but not before catching the eyes of a nurse behind the desk. The man looked away quickly, giving his full attention to the computer before him. _Shit. High alert already?_ "Go on and sit in that chair, then." John pointed to the recliner he'd just been occupying. "I'll be right back."

Dean nodded and shuffled into the room, plopping down carefully before pulling a blanket from the arm of the chair over his body. It was a surprisingly comfortable chair and the room was dark. Sam and Cas' breathing took only about thirty seconds to lull Dean into a peaceful sleep.

John, on the other hand, pulled the door shut as far as he could without actually shutting it. He went to the nurse's desk and waited for the nurse he locked eyes with to look up.

Tyler was met with a hard stare that nearly made him jump. John didn't look friendly; gauze covering his nose, bruises on his face and arms, cuts all over, and a general 'don't mess with me' look about him. With his nerves steeled for an unpleasant conversation, Tyler swallowed hard and spoke. "How can I help you?"

"My son, Dean, just left his room. Took his IV out. Any way we can get him on oral meds? Kid hates needles somethin' fierce and hospitals give 'im the creeps."

The relief in the air was palpable for Tyler. _He's just a concerned parent after all._ "Yeah, yeah, I was just going over his medicine list and we have oral formulas for everything he needs."

"Great. Thanks. And he's going to stay in Sam's room for tonight, with the rest of us. Kid won't sleep otherwise."

"Uh, okay. I'll let the doctor know in the morning."

"Thanks."

"Just, uh, make sure he keeps his arm elevated."

"Got it." John nodded to the man and returned to his son's room.

The floor wasn't the most comfortable one he'd ever rested on, but his boys were there, all safe and sound and snoring. Music to a father's ears.

* * *

 **A/N: Surprise! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've posted. Life caught up with me and I've been frustratingly busy. I'd write like a paragraph at a time on this and this is the result.**

 **Surprise! There's gonna be one more chapter, too! Just give me some time to write it and get it ready...**

 **Thanks for your patience. I know how hard it is to wait for chapters to a fic you really like. You guys rock for sticking by me!**

 **Don't forget to follow John's Boys for that last chapter...**

 **See you later!**

 **-Vivi**


	50. You're My Home

**A/N: Vivi here! I'm back, finally, for real! This is the end guys. It's... bittersweet. See the A/N at the end for more info.**

 **Warnings for the same ol' stuff, language, etc.**

 **I really hope you enjoy the final chapter of John's Boys. I know I did. It wraps up a lot of loose ends, clarifies some muddy waters, and pulls more than a few heartstrings. Even mine.**

 **Much love,**

 **Vivi**

* * *

 _Previously on John's Boys:_

 _The floor wasn't the most comfortable one he'd ever rested on, but his boys were there, all safe and sound and snoring. Music to a father's ears._

* * *

Dr. Danlos was an ass. She was tall, beautiful, blonde, and a complete jerk.

At least in John's mind.

"Next time you have sex, use a condom, Dean." She said, completely absorbed in her charting as she stood at the foot of Sam's bed. They were just wrapping up the morning visit for the three boys. Dr. Danlos wasn't too happy that Dean switched rooms, but she didn't force him to go back after John had some strong words with her in the hallway.

"I- It wasn't my fault." Dean stuttered, mortified at the doctor's words.

"Hey, lay off-" Sam piped up. He knew a little of what happened, or at least what Dad would tell him _must_ have happened, to led to Dean getting that infection. Dean didn't talk about it much. Dr. Danlos had been quippy and rude to him too, but Sam knew his big brother was in a worse mental state than the rest of their little family, having just faced his abusers and come out on top. So Sam tried to stand up for Dean, to tell the woman that it wasn't like he slept around, only to be interrupted and silenced.

"Chlamydia doesn't just happen. You should know that."

Dean frowned, his blush deepening and a sickening heat forming in his belly. "I do know that, but-"

"Did you have the sex talk with your sons, Mr. Bennett?" Dr. Danlos looked up from her paperwork for just long enough to make sure John was paying attention. "Do they know what goes where and how to protect themselves?"

"If you read his chart and the history I filled out for him, you'd know how he got the infection." John crossed his arms and moved to stand protectively in front of Dean, who was still huddled in the recliner. Poor kid was flushed a deep red, embarrassment crawling under his skin at his flaws being spoken aloud for his whole world to hear. Cas and Sam were lighter shades of red; Cas' was embarrassment for Dean's suffering but Sam's was pure anger. How dare that woman talk to his brother like that?

"I don't have time to read everything given to me, sir."

"He was raped." John said bluntly, hoping to end the conversation.

"Good to know." Dr. Danlos scribbled something on her pad and looked up at Dean, only to realize her view was blocked by his father. "Excuse me."

"For what?" John barked, angry at her lack of empathy for his hurting kids. _What a horrible doctor._ "Haven't you done enough?"

"I have some more questions for Dean." Dr. Danlos moved to the side of Sam's bed so she could see Dean around John. Poor Sam was caught right in the middle of it, unable to escape his confines of IVs and bed rails. "Do you know who raped you?"

"Alright, that's enough-" John started, letting his arms drop in anticipation of physically forcing the woman out of the room. He planned to demand another doctor as soon as possible or leave. He could take care of them on his own if he had to. No way was he risking his sons' mental health just to be polite.

"She's dead."

That stopped John in his tracks. He turned to look at his little soldier, looking so much smaller than normal under that scratchy hospital blanket, the flush of his face standing in sharp contrast to the sterile white that enveloped him.

"What?" The father had always assumed Dean was attacked while he lived on the streets in Orem, or before that, back in Washington. Probably by some creep who liked kids a little too much and was bigger than Dean. Or maybe- maybe Dean had been desperate for food or money… It wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed John's mind before that his little soldier may have gotten in too deep with the wrong crowd. He had shown some defensive behaviors when they first met. But no matter what he did or what he went through, Dean would always be his son. His loved, treasured, perfect little boy. Even if someone told him all about the kid - the marks, the history, the behavior, the infection - back when Dean was still missing, John would've dropped everything and gone to Orem with Sam in tow.

For nearly four years, Dean had been his whole world. How could he _not_ need him back, regardless of his state?

But Dean knew who did it. He _knew_ the person who attacked him, or used him, whatever the case may be. It wasn't some random act of violence. It was a woman he was at least acquainted with. And how could he know she was dead unless…

Unless Dean killed the woman who raped him. _Tell me you didn't break the first rule…_

John cleared his throat, swallowing back the anxiety at the thought of Dean committing murder. "Dean, you don't have to tell her-"

"How do you know?" Dr. Danlos was once again staring at her paperwork, scribbling madly as she spoke, her tone almost disinterested.

Dean realized his mistake and looked with a panicked expression to his father, who shook his head with a warning in his eyes. "I- I… She just is."

"Did you kill her?" The doctor asked nonchalantly, not even looking up.

"Dean-" John held up his hands, trying to stop the kid before he went into too much detail and got the cops called on him. That would be the last thing they needed. Cops made it so much more difficult to slip away without being seen.

"No! I would never… I just…" Dean sighed and let his head fall into his hands, curling up on the chair to make himself as small as possible. "I lived in her house for a long time and then her husband died and… she got in with some bad people and they…" He took a deep breath. "They killed her in front of me, okay? I know she's gone."

 _Hiccup._

John wanted to be sick. _Her._ _It was her all along. How could I not have known? The way he talked about her… The nightmares... Oh, kiddo._

"Leave." The angered father put himself between Dr. Danlos and his sons, looming over her with his best 'don't mess with me' look.

Dr. Danlos wasn't fazed. "Mr. Bennett, I may not be the fluffiest doctor you've worked with, but I plan to provide the best care possible to your sons. Is there anything else I should know?"

The accusing look on her face almost sent John over the edge. He was normally against hitting women, but damn if Danlos wasn't getting on his last nerve. "They are _safe with me._ Go."

"I'll be back in a few hours. And remember, nurses are always within shouting distance." Dr. Danlos looked pointedly at all three boys in turn before she twirled on her heel and left the room in a sweep of loose blonde curls, shutting the door firmly behind her.

 _She better not be going to call the cops._ When John turned around, Deans hands were shaking as they covered his face. "Hey, kiddo. We're getting out of here, okay?"

 _Hiccup._

"Very, very soon."

"Dad…" Sam called quietly, glancing between John and Dean a few times. "Was it… was it Lucy? She did that to him?"

"Sam, now's not the time-"

"Yeah." Dean sniffed his nose and turned over in the recliner, facing away from his father and brother. Only Cas could see the bright red eyes, the tears, the silent sobs from his place by the window. "'m sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." John said quietly, trying to fit a lifetime of understanding and acceptance into seven little words.

There wasn't any more talking for a long time after that. John went and sat beside the recliner in a plastic chair he found earlier in the day. He just rubbed Dean's back for a while, feeling every hiccup and quiet, heart-wrenching sob that racked his little boy's body.

They didn't stay long after that.

* * *

Bobby was a frantic ball of steam and fury when John finally got around to calling him on a new, not smashed phone. It was four days after they left the hospital and John had a raging headache from his recently diagnosed strep infection, shared so kindly by his youngest. Everyone had it at that point; being cooped up in a car with the germ ball for a few days wasn't exactly the best idea.

At least John managed to get everyone into a clinic and get antibiotics and cold medicine while they were on the road. The boys slept most of the time nowadays.

"Why the _hell_ haven't you called me before now?!"

John had to turn the volume down on his phone; his ear was ringing already. _Good ol' Bobby._ "I take it you made a full recovery, then?"

"Like hell I did. They restrained me. Can you believe that? I tried to leave and they put straps on me and _pink slipped_ me! For two days!"

"Tone it down, Bobby. I've got kids sleeping here." John said, glancing over at his boys, sound asleep on one and a half beds in the motel room they had for the night. Dean and Cas were splayed comfortably over one bed, the boys sharing space like they'd shared a womb, and Sam was taking up most of the other one. John would have to move the kid when it came time to hit the hay; maybe he was still sick enough to not wake up when John did it.

The mention of kids seemed to calm the older hunter down pretty quick. "They okay? Where are you?"

"They will be. That bastard got 'em pretty good but we only spent one night in the hospital, so… I guess, take what you want from that."

"You ganked that sonofabitch?"

"Yeah, but not before he bloodied all five of us."

"Damn. Anything serious with you and the boys?"

"Stitches and transfusions, mostly. Sam had surgery, but it went fine."

"How's Dean?"

John felt a gentle grin settle on his face. "He's healing. Happiest I've seen him since we found him and – get this – Sam got us all sick. Strep."

"Well ain't that just the frostin' on the cake."

John huffed a quiet laugh. He was hoping the noisy heater under the motel's only window would drown out the conversation and not wake the kids. It seemed to be working so far. "Tell me about it. But we're okay. Some stitches, bandages, yeah, but nothing I can't handle."

"Well I'm glad you finally found time in your busy schedule to call, ya jughead. Where are you?"

"We're in Raton, New Mexico. Headin' down to Temple to collect our things."

"You sure you wanna do that? What if-"

"I know, I know. We aren't staying for long. And the boys are staying outside the city until I can get everything we need from the house and a few more things from Cas' apartment. Well, assuming the landlord hasn't sold all his things and rented it out again. He made another list."

"What if you get ambushed?"

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he strolled toward the window to look out into the darkness. An occasional car would fly by on the highway not a hundred feet from their room, illuminating the scruffy landscape around the motel for a split second before it fell again into deep night. "I'll be in and out in under an hour. Unless Winthrop has more fangs on his side than we thought, I should be fine. Uh… Jeff so kindly donated some dead man's blood, so if anything goes wrong, I'm prepared."

"I was sorry to hear about 'im." Bobby said, a sorrowful tone to his voice.

"He protected my boys, Bobby. Died for 'em." John let out a heavy sigh.

"He did right by you."

Once the coroner released Jeff's body, John made sure his friend had a hunter's send-off. He left the kids at a motel – they were still sick at the time - but promised himself that he would tell everyone who asked about Jeff what the man did for his boys.

The silence that followed Bobby's words was interrupted only by the bellowing heater and a quiet 'oof, move your arm, Dean' and a slightly louder grunt from his oldest, followed by some shuffling and an annoyed groan. _Domestic paradise._ John smiled again.

"He sure did."

"Well, I'll call in some help-"

"Not Wallace. Please, spare me." John groaned, remembering the first recon trip to Temple.

"Nah, not Wallace. I got a guy in Louisiana, not far from Temple who can help ya. Name's Ehlers. He owes me one."

"I would appreciate the backup, Bobby. When can he be there?"

"I'm figurin' about the same time you'd get there. Maybe sooner. I'll send you the number and you can set it up."

"Thanks."

"And John?"

"Yeah?"

"You plannin' on stayin' in Temple long?"

"No. We're moving on as soon as I find a place. I can't risk CPS after how long they've been away from the school."

"Roger. Come on back to my place once you get outta there, then. I got somethin' for you and your boys."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"It's a surprise, ya idjit."

* * *

And it was a surprise, to say the least. When they got back to Bobby's house – after many days at motels and a few hurried but uneventful runs to the Temple apartments – there was a bunk bed in the spare room with another twin sized bed shoved against the other wall. And the basement was cleaned up, as much as could be expected, with a curtain hung to give privacy to a full sized bed, frame and all.

There hadn't been words enough for John to thank the old scruff for his generosity. Dean, the only boy with an impaired arm, had called top bunk. John rolled his eyes and let he and Sam have it out after the littlest whined in protest. Cas was happy just to have his own bed again, watching the brothers with a grin from the one pushed against the wall.

Bobby just chuckled at the bickering boys. Then he nudged John with his shoulder. "Y'know, Sioux Falls has a nice school, right in town. Smallish, but it rates pretty good."

John felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He knew the kids had to go back to school soon to keep the government off his case, but he'd been dreading finding a safe place for them to go. "I'll have to look into that."

"Already did. Got the forms and everything down in the kitchen. Not that I'm pushin' or anything."

John's smile got impossibly wider and he clapped the older man on the back. "Thanks, Bobby."

 _Home, sweet home._

* * *

 ** _Several weeks later._**

* * *

The bruises were just faded memories now.

All three boys had little puncture scars on their necks that, when asked about them, would be attributed to acne and shrugged off.

John took Cas' stitches out and the kid had little scars on his legs. Nothing as bad as John feared he might end up with. Cas said with a shrug that he never really liked shorts anyway.

John also took Sam's stitches out and his littlest had a scar on his stomach. It was small, but noticeable; Sam didn't mind much. He said he would blame it on a shark attack. John and Dean both rolled their eyes at that one.

Dean did his time in the sling and finally didn't need it anymore. John made sure to ask the local doctor himself; he didn't want Dean sneaking out of his treatment early and causing more damage. The torn muscle seemed to heal better than expected and finally Dean's ligaments had tightened up and greatly reduced his risk of popping the joint out again by accident. Dean was practically jumping for joy when the doctor said he could take his sling off for good. The father wasn't prepared for how much his oldest son wanted to do after that. He worked out – pushups, jogging in the snow, weight lifting with things he found around the house – and cleaned. By the time John got back from work at the local garage the next day, the whole house was spotless and Dean was busy working on a car in the machine shed. John's busy bee finished all his antibiotics under the watchful eyes of his brother and father; his lungs cleared up and upon visiting the local clinic for the test, his chlamydia was completely gone. Time would tell if there was any scarring or fertility issues. Dean wasn't particularly worried. He had the family he'd always wanted.

Bobby got everyone pie that night 'just because'. Dean hadn't smiled so much in his whole life. He also hadn't eaten that much pie at one sitting in his whole life.

John had a sling to match Dean's for a good three weeks until the muscle that was cut healed up. He had to admit, it was a pain. Finally, he understood why Dean kept ditching his when his father wasn't looking. John did the same, when Dean wasn't watching.

The boys took to Sioux Falls High better than John could've hoped. Dean and Cas were juniors and Sam was deemed a freshman. John's little soldier didn't seem to mind that he wasn't a senior that year, with all the kids his age. He had a few classes with Cas and he was thriving with the help his new roomie provided.

Sam tried out for the soccer team and made it in mid-season – the school was very small and a few of their players had gotten hurt-, quickly becoming one of the stars of the team. His name was in the paper for two weeks before the season ended and he was invited to play indoor soccer with another team. John had no problem with it as long as Sam's grades didn't suffer. And they never did fall below straight A's.

The report card was put on the fridge right next to the headline 'Sam Winchester scores winning goal' in black print with the little article beneath it and a blurry photo of Sam in his soccer uniform, showing off on the field. John couldn't help but feel proud whenever he saw it.

Cas grew more and more comfortable with the Winchesters. He was still figuring out their quirks and buttons when John called him out to the driveway one snowy day.

He knew Cas still had his learner's permit. They spent the next three weeks driving around the scrap yard and the nearby country roads before John took him on the highway. Cas was a natural.

John wasn't surprised when Cas got his driver's license on the first try.

And John, well he was just happy to finally get to know his kids. Sam's epilepsy was finally controlled by the local doctor who spent _weeks_ adjusting medicines to fit Sam's needs. Cas was finally opening up and could talk to everyone without shaking or showing signs of his nerves. And Dean was more than John ever hoped he would be. Brilliant like Sam, strong like his Daddy, and gentle with the younger kids just like Mary had been. He was fiercely protective of them, even from John. At least at that point he knew that his Dad only wanted the best for them. He would never hurt them.

Dean _finally_ believed him.

* * *

A few weeks of healing and adjusting later, John came home from a checkup with all three boys at the local clinic to find the whole house decked out.

In Christmas decorations.

Sam's eyes lit up and practically bugged out of his head. His smile was bright enough to bring down low-flying planes.

Dean's smirk was half excitement and half nervousness. He couldn't remember ever having a Christmas. But he knew what they were like from TV. Maybe this would be like that? He hoped so.

Cas looked at all the cheap decorations with amusement; some were placed on bookshelves, others on stacks of books. Then he noticed all the stockings hung on the fireplace mantle. There was a stocking with his name on it. Granted, it was drawn on with permanent marker, but still. He was included.

He was part of the family. And that was enough to bring him to the verge of tears.

Then, as if to top it all off, Bobby came around the corner in his typical greasy work clothes and a very clean, new looking 'Santa' hat. One that was bright red with white trim and a white puff on the end. "I ain't gonna say it." He said gruffly before a huge smile lit up his face. "Tis the season, right?"

John huffed a laugh and shook his head. "I never thought I'd see you dress up like Santa Claus."

"It's just a hat, John." Bobby said as he brushed past the group and started going through a few bags on the counter. "I got… hot chocolate for the youngun's and eggnog for us men."

"Are those real candy canes?" Sam exclaimed, rushing forward to inspect the tree that stood right next to the fireplace.

"Yeah, but don't ruin your appetite. I got fruit cake." Bobby said.

"Gross." Sam muttered, waving Dean and Cas over to join him at the overly decorated, bright, twinkling tree.

"You really didn't have to do all this, Bobby." John said, joining him in the kitchen. "But I'm glad you did. I didn't even think about what time of the year it is."

"I know." Bobby handed John a glass of eggnog and clicked his against it before taking a sip. "Boys deserve a little merriment after the year they've had, huh?"

"I couldn't agree more." John let his gaze slide to where Sam was instructing Dean to get a candy cane from near the top of the tree, where he couldn't reach. The rest of them seemed to be gone already. John wondered where they'd gotten to.

"It's Christmas Eve, y'know." Bobby said, choosing to watch the boys like John had. He grinned as Dean got the requested candy but popped it in his mouth instead of handing it over, much to Sam's dismay.

"Deeeean!"

"I know now. Didn't even cross my mind. I've been writing the date on all those medical forms and it still didn't occur to me. I'm not a very good father, am I?"

"Oh, suck it up, Sammy. You have three in your pockets."

"Do not."

"But they're right there-"

"Shut up, Cas."

John chuckled at his boys.

"I think you're doin' alright." Bobby couldn't help but grin at Sam's pouting face.

"I'm glad someone does."

"They're alive, aren't they? They're happy-"

"Give it back!"

"No way, bitch."

" _Jerk_."

"Language, boys. Remember, sharing is caring, Sammy." John called over the ruckus, a smile on his face as Sam glared at him momentarily.

"Well, mostly happy, anyway. And they're healthy, doin' well in school, keepin' out of trouble. You're already better than half the parents out there."

"I have to be, Bobby. They depend on me." John felt the weight of three young lives on his shoulders and sighed. "I'm barely holding on."

"Well, keep up the 'holdin' on' then, cuz it's workin'." Bobby and John watched as Sam tackled Dean to the ground, fighting for his stolen candy canes. Cas just stood nearby, trying to decide whether to step in or just let them do their thing. This wasn't the first time they'd done that since they arrived back at Bobby's house. Cas wasn't used to siblings and he just figured roughhousing was normal. He'd only been pulled into it twice though, much to his relief.

"Been so long since I've been able to give Sam a decent Christmas. And Dean…" John shook his head. "Of course I would forget it the first chance I get to spend it with him in… way too long."

"They don't look upset in the least. They got you here and that's all that matters."

"Ah, dammit." John groaned, running a hand down his face. "I didn't get a chance to wrap any of the gifts. They've been clunking around in the trunk for like two weeks but I never got around to getting any wrapping paper."

"I think Santa's got that covered. Check the basement. I'll distract 'em for a while." Bobby donned a sly smirk and downed the rest of his eggnog before putting the glass down and storming into his living room. "Alright, y'all better quit with the horsin' around in my house. These books are one of a kind, originals…"

A chorus of 'sorry, Uncle Bobby' ran out before the gruff old hunter came up with an idea. "Hey, how about a Christmas movie?"

John couldn't help but feel amazed by how Bobby _always_ had his back.

* * *

Sam's eyes shot open. _It's Christmas!_ He leapt down from the top bunk – which he successfully commandeered from Dean the day they got the bunk beds – and shoved at Dean's shoulder. _It's Dean's_ first _real_ _Christmas with me!_

"Dean, Cas! Wake up, it's Christmas!" Sam practically shouted. When Dean let out an annoyed grunt, Sam ran over to Cas and did the same to him, practically rocking the whole bed in his hurry to wake his brothers. "C'mon, we gotta go downstairs."

"Why?" Dean grumbled, turning over in bed and blinking tiredly at Sam. He tugged his blankets up a little higher. It had been so long since his brain had to fire on all cylinders so quickly after waking up. He was going soft under John's watch, but he wasn't sure he felt bad about that. Getting to act his own age and be a kid was… nice, to say the least.

"It's Christmas. It's what you do. Get _up._ "

"You just wake up super early and go downstairs for Christmas? Sounds lame." Dean muttered into his pillow, trying to remember what the TV characters did during their Christmas episodes. All he remembered were goofy looking pajamas, socks hung by nails and filled with goodies, and fireplaces. He hadn't seen many that he could remember. He wasn't really around televisions much after he was taken. At least, not ones he was allowed to control.

Sam flicked the lights on and both older boys groaned. "No, you go see the presents that Dad put out overnight."

"I thought it was supposed to be Santa?" Cas said as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. With a slight shiver, he pulled his blanket around his shoulders. Bobby's house had heat, sure, but this winter had been brutal and was constantly testing the old furnace in the basement. The boys' bedroom was chilly at the best of times, but this morning it was downright cold. Nothing the huge, fluffy, black blanket John got him couldn't fix though. Dean had a green one and Sam had a brown one to match. They had been 'first snow' gifts, according to one exasperated and overwhelmed father who hadn't anticipated the early frost and three shivering kids. Necessary gifts, but kind nonetheless.

John knew Cas had money all his own. Cas made sure he knew. But he paid for everything anyway, even when Cas tried to pay him back with the checkbook John himself retrieved from Cas' apartment in Temple. He never said why he wouldn't take the money. Cas just accepted it after a while, paying for what he could when John wasn't looking. The orphan knew he had more money than everyone else in the house combined but when he realized money _really, actually_ didn't matter to them, he tried to make their lives easier in other ways. He'd taken to cleaning alongside Dean or doing the dishes after dinner. Everyone had their chores, but he picked up extra when he could.

Not that he minded. He felt like part of the family that way, not just some rich house guest. Cas never imagined staying with them so long and he sorta loved it. He just hoped John wouldn't kick him out any time soon.

"Santa's not real, Cas." Sam crossed his arms and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the boy wrapped up in the blanket, just his face and some messy black hair showing. He looked like ET. "Everyone knows that."

"He's not real?" Dean sat up too and pretended to be shocked, just to see the look on Sam's face.

It was so worth it. Sam's face fell into an innocent panic. He thought he just ruined the secret for his big brother. The same secret he himself had been shielded from until the ripe age of eleven. _Thanks Dad._ "I- uh, he-"

"I know, Sam. I'm just messin' with ya." Dean grinned and stood, stretching his arms over his head and lavishing in the feeling of painlessly moving both joints. "So downstairs?"

"Jerk." Sam rolled his eyes and stomped out of the room, clomping loudly down the stairs while Cas and Dean caught up, the younger of the two remaining wrapped in his blanket.

"See? What did I tell you." Sam stood triumphantly before the Christmas tree, all lit up, and grinned. There were gifts of varying shapes and sizes under the boughs, some sparkling with shiny paper of several different colors, and some in plain cardboard boxes, sealed tight with packing tape.

"Whoa." Dean stopped in the doorway and took the sight in. It wasn't like TV at all. It was so much better because it had family in it. _His_ family. This was real.

Cas stood beside Dean and smiled at the look of awe on his friend's face. He didn't really expect anything in that pile to be for him, but it was a pretty scene nonetheless. A cheap plastic Christmas tree decked out with dollar-store ornaments and tinsel, bright colored lights and a few random things from around Bobby's house. It was nestled between the fireplace and the pile of books closest to the wall, infringing on the tomes and making Cas worry about fire hazards. Luckily, he knew the lights hadn't been on long enough to get hot enough to catch fire yet. He'd been in the bathroom when he heard familiar footsteps and the lights click on not an hour ago.

Pulling the blanket closer around his body, Cas ambled to the couch and sat down with a huff, his tired eyes already wanting to close again.

Sam looked to the hallway when he heard the basement door open. "Dad?" He called excitedly, a grin on his face.

"Sounds like a herd of elephants up here." John yawned and rubbed at his eye, straightening his gray tee shirt as he did so. "Well hey, look what Santa brought." He leaned against the door jamb between the kitchen and the living room, crossing his arms with a smile on his face.

"Really, Dad?"

"Really, Sammy. What, you don't think a magical fat man in a red suit came to hand deliver those for you boys?" John winked and Sam rolled his eyes with a grin.

"C'mon, Dad. I'm thirteen now."

"Yeah, and I just barely managed to make it up here before you tore into those presents, squirt."

"Don't call me squirt." Sam mumbled, already on his knees beside the tree. He picked up a package and turned it over in his hands, looking for a name and listening for any telltale thumps or rattles from the box so he could figure out what it was before it got opened. It was one of his favorite Christmas morning games. He played it at birthday parties too.

"Well go on, Dean. Check it out." John motioned to the tree when he saw his eldest looking a bit lost in all the color and novelty. The father looked on as his oldest glanced excitedly from the tree to his father and back again. The kid walked over and knelt next to Sam, shifting to sit cross legged in front of the fireplace as he studied the nearest gift. It was a small, lopsided, bumpy tube of a thing.

Everyone looked up at the ceiling when they heard two dull thuds and footsteps soon after that. "Tryin' a sneak around now, are we?" Bobby grumbled as he trudged down the stairs. "Y'know it's only five in the morning, right?"

"Tell that to Sammy." Dean nodded to his brother, who already had a small pile of gifts stacked up, all of which had SAMMY written on them sloppily in permanent marker.

"Lemme guess. First one up was the last one out?" Bobby asked, sitting down beside Cas on the couch with a tired groan.

"Last one out?" Dean's tired eyes squinted as he turned the tube over in his hands. "He was first outta the room by a mile."

"Outta the womb. Youngest one?" Everyone stared at him with a mixture of amusement and confusion. "This generation, I tell ya." The older man muttered, rolling his eyes. "It's just a sayin'."

"How'd you know Sam was up first?" Cas yawned and pulled his feet up to tuck them under his blanket.

"Had a feeling." Bobby watched Sam and Dean, Sam mostly, dig through the gifts and separate them out, giving them to the person whose name was written on them.

Sam had four, Dean had three, and a very surprised Cas had three as well.

"Boy…" Bobby said pointedly, nodding at Sam.

"Oh, wait!" Sam shot up and raced up the stairs, returning a few seconds later with two packages. He checked the names written neatly on each before giving one to Dad and one to Uncle Bobby.

"What's this?" John asked, surprised that he was getting something too.

"Open it and see." Dean said, smiling.

Cas and Bobby were watching with a slight grin on their faces as well.

"Did you gang up on me?" Carefully, John turned the package over in his hands. It was almost flat, maybe an inch thick, and about the size of a post card.

"Just open it, idjit. You know the drill." Bobby said, a hint of humor in his tone.

John slowly tore the bright red paper from the package and was left with a tan leather binder in his hands. He flipped it open and found picture after picture of he and his family, all taken in the last few weeks. There was Dean in his sling, cleaning up after dinner one night with a smile on his face as he laughed at the camera. There was Sam, leaning over an engine block, straining to see what Bobby was pointing to from the other side of the machinery, his long hair falling partially into his face, with grease marks up and down his arms to match the ones on Bobby's clothes. There was Cas, driving one of Bobby's beaters in the scrap yard, the nervousness he felt plainly visible on his face, even through the windshield.

John realized he was in every picture. Working behind Dean, smiling at Sam's curiosity, showing Cas how to use the emergency brake – never paying attention to the camera.

His boys had been taking photos while he was making memories with them. They'd been planning this gift for a while. And John never even noticed.

Tears jumped to John's eyes as he looked from the shining plastic pages of the photo album to the smiling faces of his kids and his best friend.

He blinked hard and saw stars when something flashed and Bobby laughed wholeheartedly. "That one's for the last page, there."

Embarrassed, John wiped at his eyes and glared at the camera in Bobby's hands. It was just a cheap little thing. Who would've known its work would mean so much to John?

"This is… It's great, boys. Really. Thank you." John couldn't help but run his thumb over the soft leather cover. It had the word 'Winchester' pressed into it. Looked homemade. He knew Bobby had the tools in his basement, but it also looked like someone inexperienced did it. One of the kids, then.

One of John's boys.

"It was their idea." Bobby said, motioning to all three boys. "I just supplied the camera."

"I love it."

"Now open yours, Uncle Bobby." Sam said, an innocent, excited grin on his face.

The man did as he was told, a rich smile lighting up his face. Throwing the paper down, he held up what had looked like a football-sized blob from beneath the wrapping. A baseball glove.

"So you don't gotta use that old worn out one anymore when you play with us." Sam said excitedly. "Dean and Cas and me picked it out just for you."

"Thanks, boys." Bobby turned the glove over in his hands and tried it on. It was a little tight and stiff, but it would stretch with time. He hadn't gotten a new glove in years.

"Now yours." John said, setting the album on the side table before sitting beside Bobby, leaning in so his elbows were on his knees. "Ready, set, go!"

Sam got the message and immediately started tearing into his largest gift; all three boys had one big, cockeyed, lumpy gift that looked the same but wrapped in different paper. The other two boys followed suit, grabbing the big package first. Within a minute, each was admiring their own new backpack, all different colors. Inside each was a set of twin sheets.

"I didn't feel like wrapping the sheets. So there you go." John leaned back in his seat and shrugged.

"Thought it was s'posed to be Santa doin' the wrappin'." Bobby smirked at John, who rolled his eyes with a grin of his own.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Thank you, Mr. Winchester."

"Keep goin'." John encouraged halfheartedly. "The sooner you get this over with the sooner I can go back to bed."

"Like that's gonna happen." Bobby mumbled, nudging John with his elbow. "They're up now, Winchester. You got breakfast duty today."

"Cool!" Sam exclaimed, having opened his next gift. It was a photo in a small, black frame. "Is this…?"

"It's us. Me, your mom, Dean, and you when you were about five months old." John watched his littlest's face light up with a huge smile and he knew his gamble had paid off. All the pictures John had been hiding for most of Sam's life had new meaning now. Sam knew he had a brother. Knew he had always had a brother. Knew that brother was everything he needed him to be. Now he could share memories with his boys freely without having to censor them. Hopefully, that photo would be just the beginning of his apology to both boys and retelling their story in its truest light.

"I got one too, Sam." Dean said, holding his next gift in front of Sam. It was a similar picture, in an identical frame. This one, though, was the whole family outside, posing in front of a big tree with a white house in the background. "Is that… is that Mom?"

 _Wait… he doesn't remember her. Well, how could he? He didn't grow up with pictures of her. No one to talk about her, tell him stories._ "Yeah. That's your mother."

Dean looked at the picture for a few more seconds before he sniffed his nose and cleared his throat, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. "She looks happy."

"She was. She had you two."

"I miss her." Dean's voice was barely a whisper.

"Me too." Sam said, looking at his own photo. "I've never seen these pictures before. Dad only had like three without you in 'em."

"We lost a lot in the fire, and then… y'know." John ducked his head, not wanting to get into that old argument again. He had hoped Sam moved past all that by now.

"I know." Sam set the picture aside and picked up another gift, his arms feeling ten times heavier with the weight of the conversation he chose to avoid still pulsing through him. _Not the time. Gotta let Dean have his first Christmas. Gotta make it a good memory for him._

Dean ran his sleeve over his eyes and under his nose and did the same thing, picking up the forgotten tube. John had successfully avoided a Sam argument, for which Dean was grateful.

"A journal?" Cas' voice broke the fragile silence.

"And a pen." John added, just as Cas found the pen between the pages of the blank book. Everyone glanced over, silently comparing Cas' new treasure to their own journals. "It's kind of a tradition in our family now. Gives us a place to write down important facts, memories, whatever."

 _A family tradition._ Cas smiled at the dark leather cover.

"Like how to kill a wendigo." Sam said absently as he shook his next package next to his head, trying to figure out what it was. _That's not such a bad idea… Gotta add that to_ my _journal._

"Yeah." John chuckled. "Or anything else you want to remember."

"Whoa…"

Everyone turned to watch Sam finish unwrapping his third gift. A remote control monster truck, standing eight inches tall. It had been in Bobby's basement for months; John had to special order it and have it shipped to the house when Sam wouldn't stop talking about it earlier that year. He saw it on TV at a motel late one night and two weeks later, John finally had the phone number and stood outside a different motel room, ordering it over the phone.

"Thanks, Dad!" Sam started to open the box, wanting to play with it immediately, but John held out a hand.

"Finish unwrapping your gifts, Sammy."

"It's Sam." He grumbled, setting the box aside – and well out of arm's reach of Dean and Cas – before picking up his last gift. "I know this one's a book."

"And how do you know that?" John asked with a sheepish grin. He hadn't tried every hard to conceal the forms of the gifts and he knew Sam would guess that one. But he didn't think the kid would be able to guess what book it was.

"How could I not?" Sam muttered, wasting no time in ripping the shining paper off. He was honestly surprised when he saw what the book was. With wide eyes, he looked to his father. "How did you…?"

"Parent-teacher conferences back at Central Middle School. Ms. Smith couldn't get over how much you talked about the knights of the round table." John smiled as his littlest cracked open the big book. It was an informational, educational thing, thick with printed, full color images of historical pictures and tapestries and artefacts that had survived the test of time. It was all about what the top scientists and historians knew about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

John saved his money for a full week to buy it at a store in one of the bigger cities they'd had a long term stay in during the past year. Couldn't use his card; they still had a three weeks left in the town and the book was a special item in the book store Sam dragged him to one day. Sammy missed it, but John went back that evening to find only two copies were still there, out of about thirty that afternoon. Needless to say, he took it to the register and asked the cashier if he could do a special lay away for his boy. After explaining their situation as honestly as he could, the kindhearted man allowed the request.

And now Sam was completely absorbed in the thing and lost to the world.

"Cool…" He breathed as he flipped page after page.

"Thank you, Mr. Winchester." Cas' voice had John pulling himself out of his own little world. The boy was holding up a small black rectangle. The phone John gifted him.

"You're welcome, kiddo. Got all the numbers in there already, so you're good to go. Call whoever you want, and if you need a new one, just let me know. That's one of the pricier ones I've ever bought, but it's not near top of the line, just in case."

"Thanks." Cas flipped the phone open and started pressing buttons, as lost in his phone as Sam in his book.

A soft gasp redirected John's attention yet again.

Dean was holding a crumpled wad of wrapping paper in one hand and his final gift in the other, both held tight and still before him. Dangling from his left hand were his beads. _The_ beads. The bloodied, stained, beat up, loved, grounding beads. His name beads. On a new, slick black string with a key ring on one end, sturdy enough that he'd never have to worry about losing them again.

But it was a bit longer than before, because attached underneath DEAN was now a perfectly white set of letters that spelled out the name he'd forgotten for over a decade. WINCHESTER.

"It's…"

"Yeah. How could I ever get rid of them, y'know?" John cleared his throat. He hadn't been expecting to get all teary eyed and emotional himself.

Dean looked up to him, amazement and disbelief in his expression. "You- you picked 'em up? After they broke?"

"Yeah. I found all of 'em except your first name beads."

Dean looked back down to the string in his hand and admired the difference in coloring and wear between the letters. _Seems like a pretty good representation. I'm all beat up and spent but with them… Shiny and new._ "I was holding onto those. When Winthrop broke the necklace. I had those in my hands, trying to stop him from snapping it. Trying to get away." The words were just whispers.

That didn't stop John from dropping off the couch and wrestling both boys into a big bear hug, much to the littest's dismay. "Dad-"

"I love you boys, more than life itself. You know that, right?" John said as he released his kids. He looked over to Cas and motioned for him to join them on the floor. Cas did. Slowly, cautiously. He didn't want to get dragging into another wrestling match.

"You never said that before, Dad." Sam spoke slowly, almost as if talking would ruin the fragile illusion. "Is somethin' wrong? Are you okay?"

John grinned and wiped his eyes on his sleeve before sniffing his nose and barking a humorless laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just fine. I should say that more often, huh? Don't wanna scare ya."

"Love you, too, Dad." Sam smiled and leaned back in for another hung, letting his inner little boy get all the attention he needed before the moment was over and he had to put on the big kid exterior again. Although maybe he wouldn't have to wear that as often now…

"You sure?" Dean asked, looking down at his beads, thumbing over the DEAN ones carefully and avoiding the clean ones.

"I'm fine, kiddo. No worries." John said, clapping Dean lightly on the back. He let out a relieved breath when his action, which could have elicited fear and distrust and a defense response, didn't even make the kid flinch.

"No, about…"

Realization flash onto John's face. He moved so that he was in front of his oldest and squared his hsoulders up to the boy's. With both hands, he took Dean's shoulders and held on until the kid looked up. "I love you, son. I've loved you since the day your mama told me you were comin'. Nothing, _nothing_ , will ever change that. Understood?"

Dean sniffed loudly and nodded, feeling tears form in his eyes as he struggled to keep his breaths coming slowly and evenly. "Yeah." One big sob escaped and before he knew it, he was smushed into John's chest, being hugged as tightly as ever. The feeling of safety and value was oh so sweet. "Love you too."

Bobby waited a good minute before he got up and started making breakfast.

He knew there was no way John was going to make it.

Not when his boys needed him right where he was.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm not crying, _you're crying._ I love warm fuzzy endings, don't you? I really hope you enjoyed this story; please let me know if you did, or what you thought, and if I should keep going with the whole JB universe or not. **

**Shoutout to everyone who stuck by me even though this story took forever to write and post. And a special shoutout to the people who, as of today, can read this whole thing in one sitting. I am amazed by you.**

 **But really, thank you for supporting me and reading this. I love writing and you guys make it so much better.**

 **Don't forget to leave a review and follow/favorite me. I have a few other stories with similar writing styles, and I'd love for you to check those out and leave a review saying you read JB (John's Boys).**

 **Until next time, hunters.**

 **-Vivi**


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